


World's End Dancehall

by Lolibat



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, Fix It, Gen, Loveless - Freeform, Old as dirt Harry, Time Travel, Turk Harry, Watchmaker Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29259864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lolibat/pseuds/Lolibat
Summary: When the war of the beasts brings about the world's endThe goddess descends from the sky.Wings of light and dark spread afarShe guides us to bliss, her gift everlasting“Genesis’?” Cissnei asks, staring at the feather curiously. It was almost long enough to be a quill, Harry thinks.“Yeah- from the original one,” Harry adds grimly. He’s tired, he realizes. Life’s dragging him down, and with one upheaval over another, he’s tired. He looks at Cissnei and sees understanding in her eyes. Even if she has never known life outside of ShinRa, she has still managed to build herself a life within it, no matter how confined. “I don’t know where my friend ends and where the monster begins, Cissnei,” he confesses quietly.He's at the center of a crisis he didn't even know- didn't anticipate- and Genesis is drowning faster than he can save. At the eye of the storm, how can he see his way out?(He can't, but he'll force a way if he can't find one- it's what he has always done.)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 50





	1. Act I

**I.**

It was a thing of urgency, Harry mused, that a planet would summon him this way. He’s had accidents, catastrophes, incurable diseases, but this was the first time he managed to go asphyxiating his lunch. He was sure that this new planet made him do it too- having food routed down his windpipe mid-swallow wasn’t something he did often, or at all. And so away he went- to the lady who called for him the most.

But it wasn’t a big deal- he was getting bored of this life anyways. He did what he was summoned for, and he was more or less just enjoying his time off. It was a nice planet, near apocalypse aside. He’d miss the pretty dancing priestess, but seeing her send off all the dead people of the past was rather nice.

He wondered if they’d hold a funeral for him.

Perhaps a normal person would take a much stronger opinion on being killed at a random point in time, at another person’s (or deity’s) convenience, but he has had a lot of weird accidents over his long existence. It all started with the Hallows in his first life and went from there. Why Voldemort wanted eternal life was beyond him, if repeatedly saving the world (worlds, really) was what it entailed. It was his profession at this point, and he had it down to an exact science. The first time he actually died and stayed dead, he had gone as a content old man in front of his wife’s grave. Then he woke up as a crying infant in the tired and sweaty embrace of Lily Potter in another time. It didn’t take him long to start crying for real.

Eventually with nothing to do but to watch his parents, Sirius, and Remus make weird faces at him, he retreated into his infant mind to contemplate his dilemma. As a one year old infant, there was hardly anything he could do. He could speak single words, but any more was beyond his body’s capacity. And so, frustrated and sad, he watched his parents leave the world once again.

From that point on, he vowed to change the events of his life starting with the Dursleys. From the Dursleys, he ran away the moment he turned nine and apparated into Gringotts in the dead of night using his ‘accidental’ magic. The only ones visiting Gringotts at that hour were some odd vampire nobles, all of whom have lived long enough to not bat an eye at a nine year old child appearing out of thin air.

He then retrieved his keys, got his money, and high tailed it out of there. Through the goblins, he bought himself a nice chateau in France and bought a pair of house elves to handle the tasks of daily living.

There wasn’t anything he wanted to do as a nine year old; therefore, he took a year off to himself. To his surprise, he discovered that his next door neighbors were none other than the Delacours, who were more than happy to tell him about France and its customs. They didn’t ask any uncomfortable questions- thankfully- and just presumed that he was the heir of a pureblood family whose parents were never around much. It wasn’t far off from the truth, really.

The year passed uneventfully (other than avoiding Fleur and Gabrielle’s constant attempts to magick a flower crown permanently into his hair), and he began to make preparations to retrieve Voldemort’s horcruxes. There still wasn’t much he could do as a ten year old, but he had surprise on his side and two house elves- it would be enough.

He always found it very odd that the wizarding world constantly underestimated the power of house elves. Lucius Malfoy had certainly never saw Dobby’s rebellious actions coming, and even the muggle-raised genius that was Tom Marvolo Riddle had underestimated Kreacher’s tenacity. They were costly mistakes- and mistakes that Harry would exploit to his full advantage this time around.

Since Tom already showed his carelessness last time around, and there was no need to hunt for the horcruxes this time around, Harry got right to work.

First, he summoned Kreacher. The elf was in mourning and confused- his old master had passed away recently, and the current lord (not that he wanted to call Sirius that) was incarcerated. So who else had the authority to summon him? Harry knelt down to Kreacher’s level (something that surprised the old elf) and explained in gentle tones that he was Dorea Black’s grandchild. While his relation was not the most direct, he was also the one Sirius deemed to leave the Black Family estates to, which makes him the lord of the family and not Draco Malfoy. When he saw that the current Black Lord had passed, he thought to summon the Head Elf to notify him of the change in estate holders.

Thankfully, Kreacher was still coherent and not insane, and he bowed deeply to the new Lord Black. While Harry Potter was  _ not _ a Black by name, he had Black blood in him, and he had followed the proper pureblood protocols. He would not mind serving under a child, if it meant having a proper lord at all.

And so, the first order of business was to go to the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts to sort out the Black accounts and retrieve the Lord Ring. Harry offhandedly asked Kreacher if he could be provided with a copy of the Black family tree, and he was promptly presented with a map big enough to serve as his bedsheet. He poured over the names for a couple of days while the goblins were notified, and he decided that his first order of business was to retrieve the vaults of the Blacks who were currently incarcerated under a life sentence or pronounced dead with no heir. And honestly, there were a number of Blacks who fell into either category.

At Gringotts, the goblins were not at all surprised with the request and informed him that yes, as the new Lord of Black (which did not hold an age requirement), he was entitled to retrieve said accounts- as long as he gave the goblins a cut of the gold. Harry did not care at all about how much they took (or if they took it all) as long as he got Bellatrix’s goblet. And he did- within the week.

The second horcrux was done with a dose of Felice Felix. He had never met Dobby in this life, but he had known the elf pretty well the last life. His magic, which was carried over from his last body, remembered the feel of Dobby’s magic and reached out gently in a summons. It was not compulsory, for he had no binding power over the Malfoy elf, but he hoped that with some luck, the elf would come. And he did.

This plan relied greatly on the elf’s hero worship of him, but he had to try. He waited for moments before Dobby finally popped into his living room with a rather confused expression and a blood red pillowcase. Whatever scheme Harry had in mind, he put it on hold as he bandaged the house elf’s wounds and gave him the medical care that he clearly needed. If anything, that only served to deepen the house elf’s obsession with him; the Malfoys had ordered Dobby not to heal his own wounds, those sadistic inbred bastards. However, they didn’t order Dobby away from anyone who would provide that care, and so Harry had healed the wounds for him.

Understandably, Dobby was completely touched (in the head, Harry thought) and offered to do just about anything Harry asked. And so, Harry asked for a brown diary that is somewhere in the Malfoy house and got half a dozen- one of which was the horcrux. And so, went the second horcrux.

The third horcux Harry actually asked for by summoning Kreacher. He sat the poor elf down with some tea and biscuits and explained to him the whole story. In his opinion, Kreacher deserved to know- his loyalty to Regulus was admirable, and in his own twisted way, he had loved the Blacks. Their downfall had caused his mental deterioration, and he never recovered from that. This time, Harry wanted to prevent that from happening at all, and  _ Regulus _ owed Kreacher a long overdue explanation.

He explained everything to the elf- from Tom Marvolo Riddle’s birth to his descent into Lord Voldemort, to the prophecy and his role in it, to his first life and subsequent death and rebirth. By the end of the long tale, the poor elf was in hysterics, which Harry had no idea how to handle. But instead of flying off the handle (which Harry half suspected would happen), the old elf had thanked him and asked him if he could help him fulfill Regulus’ last wish, which Harry was more than happy to. And so went the third horcrux.

The fourth horcux had been rather easy- now that Harry had Kreacher’s undying loyalty, he simply asked the house elf kindly to retrieve the Gaunt Ring from Little Haggleton with the permission to use all the magic he had at his disposal along with the Black family magic and Harry’s own magical core, to Kreacher’s surprise.

Many wizards are oblivious to the origin of house elves, but there is a reason why they are called house  _ elves _ ; many centuries ago, the Celts had managed to bind the first wood elves to their bidding. They never intended to turn them into slaves, but as time went by and their rituals became known to the world, their knowledge was abused. By the time of the Romans, true fae were more or less extinct, and the only ones left were those of their descendants, who lived as slaves of the wizards.

Thus, when a wizard fully released an elf’s magic, they were unleashing the power of the fae, long buried under many layers of binding spells and rituals.

With the combined magic at his disposal, even Tom Riddle’s dark spells were no match for Kreacher. And so, went the fourth horcrux.

Ravenclaw’s diadem went more or less in the same manner since Hogwarts was used to the coming-and-going of house elves, and Kreacher had served the Blacks even when they were in school. It was child’s play for him to retrieve the diadem and bring it back to his current master. And so went the fifth horcux.

At that point, Nagini had not been turned into a horcux yet, but with five horcuxes destroyed a la fiendfyre, Harry was feeling pretty good about his progress.

When his Hogwarts letter came in the mail, Harry wrote back in perfect penmanship that he would be more than happy to attend on the first of September.

The year went more or less as expected, though Malfoy was a lot more respectful of him this time around due to the gaudy ring he had on his finger. He met Ron, Hermione, and Neville in the same way as he did last time, and the troll did attack all the same. He had his first Hallow gifted back to him on Christmas, and he choked on the snitch a second time. He saw his parents in the Mirror of Erised, and he played with the thought of summoning them back with the intact Resurrection Stone.

At the end of term, when Quirrell confronted him in front of the Mirror of Erised, he played the perfect little hero and goaded Voldemort into killing him (which he did).

Boy was he surprised when Harry didn’t stay dead. Instead, he woke up, stretched his neck,  _ thanked _ the man for a nice trip to King’s Cross (whatever  _ that _ meant) and proceeded to wordlessly summon his wand back into his hand.

It was all very mindboggling to the spirit who shared a brain with an incompetent wuss. And thus, he didn’t see it when Harry subtly switched their wands. Since their magical cores were the same, he didn’t notice the switch from Yew to Holly- and he had bigger dilemmas on his mind. Thus, he was completely blindsided when Harry calmly shot an Avada Kedavra at him and let it hit him in the chest. Just to be safe, Harry cast the spell a second time- one for Quirrell and one for Tom Riddle.

Carefully, he knelt down and retrieved his own wand and wrapped his hands around Quirrel’s neck. The magical residue was still strong despite Voldemort’s death, and Lily Potter’s magic burned Quirrel’s head cleanly off.

Then, Harry retrieved the Philosopher’s stone and calmly waited for Dumbledore’s arrival. He didn’t have to wait long, and he was greeted with the very amusing sight of Dumbledore’s poleaxed expression. After leading the boy to his office, he demanded an explanation, which Harry willingly gave.

Time travel was the last of Dumbledore’s expectations, really. He had known long ago that the old headmaster had his life planned to a T, and apparently  _ his _ way of fulfilling the prophecy counted as defeating Dumbledore. And so, the last Hallow returned to its master.

When Voldemort never came back from his defeat, the Death Eaters were forced to concede that their lord was dead. Their mark faded over time- as all tattoos do- and those sent to Azkaban rotted their days away. Sirius was freed two years early when Harry brought the situation to Dumbledore’s awareness, and Peter Pettigrew was captured and sent to Azkaban. The Malfoys never fell from grace, and Ginny Weasley was never possessed in her first year. Severus Snape never had his hand forced, and when Harry had come up to him one day and handed him a letter that he found in the Potter vault, he promptly broke down. Overall, Hogwarts knew Harry James Potter as a mature, if somewhat odd, genius Gryffindor. To Harry’s surprise, he did not marry Ginny Weasley and have three kids.

Instead, he was cornered by one Luna Lovegood in the middle of his second year demanding to know how far back in time he was sent and whether or not she had managed to prove the existence of Wrackspurts to the general public in the end (she hadn’t). However, that had been the start of a beautiful friendship that morphed into something else along the way, and in the end, he had his three kids anyways. Just with a different person.

And thus, this time, he died as a content old man in front of his wife’s grave again.

However, he woke up in a different world this time and not as a child. Soon, he came to realize that in each and every single one of these worlds, he was born to the incarnation of Lily and James Potter (in whatever form they had), named Harry James Potter, and had a birthmark on his back in the distinct form of the Hallows.

Well then.

In every single one of those worlds, somehow, there would be a prophecy about him saving the world (in one way or another), and he would have to do it. And at his death (sometime after fulfilling the prophecy), he would be sent to the next world that needed saving.

It was quite tiring, really, and he didn’t get paid enough to do this.

* * *

**II.**

This world was called Gaia, he learned. He was born to a pretty redhead named Laira Potter and had no father that he knew of. His grandfather was a potter (hence their name), and his mother worked as a mechanic under the plate. The world he grew up in this time was a dismal, dirty, thing- hardly worth mentioning at all. Their home was not a hovel, but it was close. There was no life at all around here, and the only light they had was bright and artificial.

He has asked about his father once, when he was four and curious.

“Dead,” was the only response he got before his mother turned to her engines once more and told him to go do his work.

He helped out around their garage in Sector Seven whenever he was roped into doing so, but his true calling in this life was something else: he found a box of gears outside of an abandoned church in sector five one day and entered the world of ticking clocks.

His mother was not at all surprised to find her five year old son building a variety of clocks, pocket watches, and toys on the dinner table one day. His clumsy fingers fought to use the fine watchmakers’ tools with adult precision.

She merely shrugged and patted him on the head indulgently. “I expected it to happen, just not this early. We Potters are craftsmen at heart, but all of us pick different trades to call our own. Your grandfather was a potter, and your grandmother was a carpenter. I started fiddling with engines when I was a teen and had my own garage by the time I was thirty.”

And that was that.

His mother was surprisingly lenient with him and allowed him to go out and collect gears for his craft regularly. Her only stipulation was that he return home by five to help with dinner and that he learn how to fight.

“It’s a dangerous world out there, Harry.” She said and ruffled his messy hair. “The slums aren’t safe for a kid like you. You wouldn’t want to break your old Ma’s heart, would you?”

Thus started Harry James Potter’s foray into the world of magic in Gaia. It wasn’t really a start as much as it was a ‘welcome back’ for him, though he had to adjust slightly to the rules on this planet. In every planet he went to, magic existed. More often than not, the existence of magic itself was the causative factor in the apocalypse, but Harry was a wizard first and foremost, and he would never dare rid the worlds of magic.

Magic was in his blood, and it called to him. The materia of this world was like a concentrated magical core- in his eyes, it was like a miniature sun. The magic itself was compressed and oriented only to one element, but within that element, any spell could be done. Usually, there was one or two spells that leapt out at him whenever he reached for the materia, but it was undefined enough for him to turn into something else more free forming. In reality, Harry James Potter was in love.

At the age of seven, Harry recreated Fawkes from a low level fire materia that he had purchased from the Wallmarket for a hundred and fifty gil. His mother was surprised this time, but she rolled with the punches and declared him proficient enough in magic to move onto hand to hand combat.

He was much less skilled at physical fighting than he was at magical fighting, but he was no slouch. He was head auror for a reason in his first life, and he joined Luna in the Unspeakable department in his second life. His physical combat skills ranged from simple self defense to Brazilian capoeira. It was only that his body didn’t know what to do with limbs that short and muscles that weak. But he persevered and learned as much from his mother as possible- while he still had her around.

He was ten when his mother discovered the sheer amount of gil that he had saved up from monster hunting, pickpocketing, and selling his creations to the upper plate ladies looking for ‘artisan creations’. “I didn’t think you would save up this much this quickly,” Laira said with a raised eyebrow. “It took me until I was twenty five to save up enough for my own garage.”

She shook her head in amusement. “Son, you’ll probably manage your own store by fifteen. But don’t you leave me so soon, you hear?”

From that day on, she started adding a variety of miscellaneous topics to their lessons, mostly about managing a business. She taught him how to manage budgets, how to find supplier lines and secure contract deals, how to hire staff and manage them, how to build a good word of mouth, and how to advertise. Harry realized halfway through their lessons that while the Potters were never rich, this knowledge was their inheritance to him. Inheritance came in all forms- not necessarily monetary goods. With this, he was trained from childhood to  _ survive _ in the slums without being swallowed by the oppression, and that was already more than what most slum kids could say they have.

He was touched, to a certain degree. He mused at how different the soul of Lily Potter was in this incarnation. In his first life, Lily Potter was a bright, curious woman with intelligence and kindness. In this life, Laira Potter was a cunning, tough woman with the fierceness of one forced to survive on her own. This wasn’t a kind, gentle woman. This was a woman faced with the trials of life and came out on top. It was admirable, and Harry admired her all the more for it.

She was right with her prediction. By age fifteen, Harry managed to buy a small store off the side of Wall Market to sell his watches. He sold everything that ticked- from ornate metal clocks to delicately carved pocket watches, to car meters and replacement parts. He was known as something of a mix between a mechanic and a watch maker, and he ran a repair service to boot. His store was dark and dimly lit, with a small sign in front that read “Potter’s Watches”. It was eerie to most of the population, but Harry loved it. Surrounded by the many synchronous ticking of clocks, Harry marked the passage of time peacefully.

He still lived with his mother, as per her wishes, until one day she failed to return home for dinner. He went out to her garage only to find it badly broken into and burning.

“Mother,” he gasped and immediately leapt into action. He found her broken and bleeding beneath the rubble that was the cashier counter. Her foot was badly mangled, and piece of shrapnel from the cars had pierced her lungs.

“Harry,” she rasped. “I don’t have much time,” she coughed.

She was right, Harry thought numbly in the back of his mind. He was an old soul- he has seen his parents die many times over, but Laira Potter was someone he had come to love and respect for her own right as a person.

“Take the money and the garage. I- I have something left for you- under the floor boards in the second bedroom,” she said, her voice barely a whisper now.

“It’s okay,” Harry said, brushing aside a stray piece of hair from her face. “I love you, Mom- I always have, and I always will. I couldn’t ask for a better mother. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me- I love you,” he said, his voice choked and tight. And he did mean them- he said them to every incarnation of Lily Potter that he could, and he always meant them. In this case, he meant them more than most.

Her reaction was the same every time. She smiled tenderly at him (perhaps for the first and the final time that he has ever seen her so gentle) and touched his cheek one last time. “Thank you,” she said, and closed her eyes for the final time.

It was the same, he thought, yet he can’t help but shed tears for the woman who raised him on her own in the slums. No, Laira Potter would never be forgotten in his heart, no matter how many incarnations he would meet. She was someone special- a strong pillar in the storm that was this world.

Whoever did this would pay, he thought.

And they did. The relatively new street gang that attempted to extort from the Potter Garage was all found dead merely a week later, their bodies horribly burnt and scratched to ribbons. Officially, it was ruled as a monster rampage, but those of the slums knew better.

They had upset someone powerful and had paid the price dearly. All in all it was relatively normal, and no one paid any attention to the deaths. The risk comes with the job- everyone knows that. Still, from that day on, no one really bothered the little Potter with his eerie watch shop and eerier green eyes.

* * *

**III.**

He had his supply lines all laid down by the time he turned seventeen, but that didn’t mean that he stopped with his foraging. Of all of his regular old haunts, the junkyard in front of the church in sector five was his favorite. Occasionally, he cast lingering glances at the church, but he never entered. “Out of place” was an understatement in the slums, where sin was a valid currency.

To him, God was dead. Long dead. There was no point in going to a church- not for someone like him. And so, he shrugged and went about his daily life. Besides, he knew that the Turks (also known as the suited people who were spoken in hushed tones and furtive glances) staked out the building every day. He knew the signs of a stakeout, and he personally thought that they were doing it quite badly for him to notice from day one.

He didn’t mind them personally- a job’s a job, and he’s done his fair share of assassinations and unsavory tasks as an Unspeakable. Generally, the Unspeakables were separated into two divisions- that of research, and that of field work. The research division was headed by Luna in his second life, and it was the wet dream of every Ravenclaw and Slytherin. The field work division was his department, and it handled the… less savory parts of auror work that they didn’t want exposed to the public. So, to him, Turk work was nothing unusual. No one takes a second glance at a thin kid digging through the junk in the slums, so he continued without paying them any mind (not that he was supposed to notice them in the first place).

Life continued as normal until one day, a loud shriek broke the calm of sector five. Harry had his arms full with gears and metal parts by then, but he climbed his way out of the junk pile and rushed to the streets. In front of the church was a large pack of hedgehog pies and bee saucers terrorizing civilians.

Harry cursed and dropped his pile of treasures to the side. With a practiced gesture, he drew the obsidian knives his mother left him and held them in a reverse grip. With his other hand, he slotted in his curaga and firaga materia. He had saved a long time for them by gathering cheap materia, leveling them, and selling them off for a profit. It was a lot of effort and work; however, in situations like this where greater fire power was needed, they were worth every gil.

He broke into a sprint and slid neatly between a pair of children and four bee saucer IIIs.

“Go- hurry and get out of here,” he shouted to them before raising his blades in a block. The sniffled and scrambled away as quickly as their stubby little legs could take them. The robots spun about in irritation and fired electrical lasers at him, which he dodged. With a couple of well calculated swipes, Harry laid the robots bare- smoking and twitching in chunks.

He spun his blades about in victory before scanning his surroundings. He was in front of the church once more, and most civilians had left by then. His green eyes narrowed when he saw movement near the edge of street corner- a flash of pink cloth, and a girl who clearly tripped over her own feet.

Without any hesitation, Harry leapt into action again. Where were the Turks? He knows they stake out this sector. Why aren’t they doing anything about it? He got his answer soon enough when he turned the corner and saw a young woman cornered by a gang of Dorky Faces. She was clearly terrified, clutching at a wooden staff. Beside her were two downed Turks, one cursed into unconsciousness and one frozen stiff. Huh- so she was the one the Turks were watching.

“Firaga,” Harry casted, and the magic came to him as easy as breathing. It was eager to be used, and the white hot fire took the form of small birds and flew into the floating monsters. They took note of the girl and flew around her. Dorky faces were inclined to ice elemental magic, and the firaga birds burnt them to a crisp.

“Hey, are you okay?” Harry asked, kneeling by the cowering girl. He held out a bangled hand, taking care to sheathe his knives.

“I- I’m okay. Thank you… I’m Aerith- thank you so much for saving me.” she said, looking up at him with eyes nearly as bright as his own. She took it gently, though Harry noted that she had slight callouses on her hand.

“You’re welcome-I’m Harry. And it’s not anything anyone wouldn’t have done. What happened over here?” Harry asked. “I heard someone scream, and I saw two children being attacked by monsters.”

The girl shook her head. “Monster attacks, I think. They’re becoming more frequent, and the monsters are getting bolder now, to attack sector four.”

“They’re stronger now too,” Harry said, recalling the old enemies that he fought as a child.

Aerith nodded her head sadly.

“Are you hurt anywhere?” Harry asked, showing her his curaga materia.

Aerith shook her head. “No, I’m alright, but…” she said hesitantly, looking over at the two downed Turks in the alley.

“Were they bothering you?” Harry asked, debating on whether he should bother reviving the unconscious Turks or just leave them there for the next scavenging monster to find.

“No, they usually don’t,” Aerith said uncomfortably. “At any rate, they were trying to help me. One cast a wall on me and took a blizzard attack as a result, and the other got cursed.”

“I see,” Harry mused. “Well, I guess with the monsters here, I should take them somewhere safe, but my house is over at sector seven.”

“There’s a church next door,” Aerith pointed out. “I don’t think the monsters got into it this time, so it should be safe.”

Harry thought for a moment. “Alright, but I’m going to need some help moving them in there.”

* * *

**IV.**

In the end, it had taken their combined efforts to move the unconscious Turks. Harry was well used to dragging bodies through the battlefield, and having been a mechanic himself, the weight was not an issue to him. Aerith however, was still a girl relatively untrained in combat and struggled quite a bit under the weight.

When they got to the church, Harry laid them down on the benches and promptly shot a curaga at them both. With that, he got up and told Aerith that he would be heading back before they woke up- he had a store to tend to and metal pieces to retrieve.

“Alright,” she nodded and headed over to the flower field growing in the middle of the church. “But take a couple of flowers in return- as thanks.”

Harry accepted them gracefully and even let Aerith tuck one behind his ear (much to the girl’s amusement). “Thanks, Aerith. It’s my first time being in the church, actually.”

“Well, you can come back to visit me then; I’m usually here on most days tending to the flowers,” Aerith said, stepping back to look at her masterpiece. “The flower looks good on you, you should wear them more often,” she smiled gently.

Harry only snorted, unable to stop the smile creeping up on his face. Aerith was a nice girl, really- way too nice to be in a slum like this- but there was something odd about her. For one, nothing living ever grows in Midgar. For two, no one- in any of his lives- ever had green eyes as bright as his. That alone was a warning sign that something was off. And last but not least, if she was a normal, ordinary slums girl, she wouldn’t have Turk bodyguards around the clock.

In any case, it’s really not his business even though his hero complex would probably attract the attention of the Turks. Well, so much for laying low.

* * *

**V.**

He did take up Aerith’s offer eventually; on every Monday and Thursday, he met Aerith at the church, where he would help her tend to the flowers. He never thought that he would enjoy a task that Petunia Dursley once used to torture him in the summers, but he found it surprisingly refreshing to garden with Aerith. It was quiet, and Aerith’s presence was calming.

The flowers themselves were quite odd; Harry was sure that they were magical. He felt their velvety yellow and white petals, and he heard whispers in the wind. They were quiet sighs and barely distinct words, but he could hear them all the same. In certain times, when the reactors flared, the voices cried out in pain. Oddly enough, he only heard the voices here, in the church, while he was with Aerith.

The first time he heard them cry out, he turned his head quickly behind him to the source, only to find nothing there at all. Instead, he saw Aerith’s gaze directed at him, shocked and hopeful all the same.

“Uh, I thought I heard something- I guess not,” Harry said sheepishly, hoping to calm the girl down. If anything, that only made Aerith look more serious.

“You heard something? What did it sound like?” She said hurriedly, her words rushing out of her. She took his hands in hers, and immediately Harry felt a sharp pang in his head.

He winced, recoiling at the screaming that he heard reverberating loudly in his mind. Merlin, he thought as he drew up his Occlumency shields to block the sound of cymbals, what is with this girl? He yanked his hands out of her grasp and held them close to his chest.

Aerith looked like she expected nothing less of the reaction, and for one strange second, he saw Luna superimposed over her, looking at him with the same all-knowing gaze.

“I thought I heard a woman screaming- I… Is there a monster attack outside again? Should I check?” Harry asked, obviously knowing the answer to his own question. He saw a shape shift in the shadows. Whatever this was, it was enough to interest the Turks.

“No,” Aerith said with surety. “No, there isn’t.”

“Then…?” Harry started, this time officially confused.

“Harry, do you believe in the Planet?” Aerith asked seriously suddenly changing the topic to that of the local religion.

Was it really the time to be discussing religion? Harry thought exasperatedly. He was hearing voices, for Morgana’s sake. The last thing he needed was a schizophrenia diagnosis in a place like Midgar. “I guess?” Someone, or something, must have summoned him here. As he learned in his reincarnation cycles, every planet had its own sentience one way or another, and he did not see this planet as an exception. Calling this planet “Planet” was by far the most uncreative name he has heard thus far though.

Aerith was silent for a while. “What you heard was the Planet, Harry.”

Harry blinked. “I’m hearing voices now? I guess I should get some more sleep,” he joked halfheartedly. Clearly, Aerith was not in a joking mood today.

“No, I hear them all the time,” she admitted quietly. “No one else could though.”

“Oh.” Trust his luck to meet a possibly mental flower girl- who  _ would _ be the first one to discover his abnormal existence.

“Do- do your parents hear them too?” Aerith asked hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted honestly. “I don’t hear them all the time- just here. I figured it’s nothing worth mentioning… it’s just quieter here, so it’s easier to hear the noise from the markets. I… I don’t think my mom heard anything- at least she never mentioned it to me. I never met my grandparents, but my dad’s dead.”

Aerith took his hands gently in sympathy this time, and he flinched from the contact, half expecting screaming voices to greet him instead.

Instead, what he heard was clear cooing warmth and wisps of lullabies, like they were trying to comfort him. He looked at her hands in wonder.

“I can hear them,” Harry gasped. It was surreal and almost trippy. This has never happened in all of his incarnations, though he had to admit that Luna’s soul gets weirder with every cycle, when he does meet her incarnation. He could barely hear a choking noise from the shadows, presumably from whichever Turk was lurking there. Harry vehemently hopes he asphyxiates.

Aerith’s eyes were nearly tearful with joy. “I never thought that I would be able to meet another- I thought I was the only one.”

“Only one what?” Now he was even more confused.

“… Ancient- Cetra,” she said quietly with her head bowed.

“The what?” Harry asked, completely oblivious. And so, Aerith told him her tale of woe- in between bouts of tears and dramatic womanly sobbing. Harry comforted her awkwardly (despite his many years, he was never comfortable with crying females) and half wondered how long he has left in the slums until the Turks come and take his head. He mentally made plans to sell his stock and shut down the store. He bade his perfectly normal life a fond goodbye as he wondered what crazy prophecy he would be dragged into this time.

“So you think I’m a Cetra?” Harry summed up after half an hour. He was pretty sure that he was able to hear the planet because he was the one they went through the trouble of summoning, not because he was a Cetra anything. But still the girl was absolutely convinced that they were related to some degree. It wasn’t impossible, of course- he could be related to her through his father’s side, but the chance was rather small. Instead, he was probably more like the people of old, with how much magic he had in his body and how in tune he was with it.

Aerith nodded, hiccupping from crying. Her shoulders were still trembling with the weight of the world stacked on top of them, but her eyes were determined.

Mentally, Harry rocked back on his heels. Now, how to get out of this snafu with his head attached to his shoulders? Even from here, he can practically feel the Turks’ eyes trained on him. “Well, I don’t think I’m a Cetra or whatever- at least not more than most people around here. That screaming you hear- it’s always like this? All day?”

Aerith nodded again, silent. Harry shook his head.

“Wow, I have no idea how you bear with it. For me at least, it’s nothing like that. It’s very quiet- like the wind. I’d miss it if I wasn’t in a very quiet place like the church. Even when I’m at home, I can’t hear it, so it’s got to be something to do with this place,” Harry analyzed calmly. “I only hear the screaming when you touch me- so I think I’m probably hearing it through you. So whatever Cetra blood I have- if I even have any, it’s probably too diluted to do me much good besides help you out with the gardening around here.”

Aerith giggled weakly, a bit disappointed that the man in front of her wasn’t a half-Cetra like her. In all probability, he probably wasn’t even a quarter Cetra with how diluted his blood must be, but for once in her life,  _ she wasn’t alone _ . Dilute blood or not, she wasn’t alone anymore in this world.

Even if Harry knew absolutely nothing about the Cetra world, he was there- he  _ existed _ , and that was enough.

* * *

**VI.**

In the end, he didn’t have to wait long for the Turks to come calling.

The end came with the ringing of a doorbell that Harry didn’t know he had. In fact, it took several rings for him to even realize that the doorbell was, in fact, his. No one ever bothers him below the plate (not after he turned the last gang into human sized flesh ribbons), and he sells his creations directly to his above plate clientele (none of whom can ever go below plate without being robbed, pronto)… And so, it is with great confusion that Harry learned to recognize his doorbell one day.

“Coming! Give me a second!” he called from the attic, where he was busy figuring out how he could afford to get nicer parts from Rocket Town instead of from Kalm.

The doorbell stopped ringing as Harry thundered downstairs and ended up slightly breathless in front of his front door.

He opened the door, saw a Wutain man in a familiar pressed dark blue suit, and promptly slammed the door shut with a “wrong number!” There was only one thing a blue suit below the plates would mean.

The insufferable man merely began ringing the doorbell again. Biting back a sigh, Harry kissed his peaceful life goodbye and mentally cursed the planet three times over for this mess.

Resigned, he opened the door once more (he noted with some amusement that the Turk’s expression did not change the least) and invited the man in.

“Close the door behind you- I would offer you tea, but I haven’t got any,” Harry said with a shrug and brushed off some of his design plans to make a small corner of space on his worktable. The papers scattered onto the floor, where he kicked them to a corner. He won’t be apologizing for his rude treatment- if anything, his “hospitality” would already be considered quite nice by Turk standards.

“It’s quite alright,” the man said, his tone cool and professional. “This is no social call, after all.”

Harry sighed and gestured for him to sit. “So, what can a scrawny slums watchmaker do for you, Mr. Turk?”

The Wutaiin man blinked and smiled (as if expecting more of a fight- really, fighting with the Turks?  _ Bad _ idea. Not that they would be hard to take in a fight, but with Big Brother ShinRa overarching them, it was a bad idea with a capital B.) It was easily the most hair raising creepy sight Harry has seen thus far on this planet.

* * *

**VII.**

Shinra Electric Power Company- the world dominating force of this entire planet and the only electric company Harry knows with its own private army. He’s also ninety-nine percent sure that he’s supposed to stop this place, somehow, in some form or way (how, he has absolutely  _ no _ idea). But looking at the slop that they try to pass off as meat pie in the canteen, Cadet Harry James Potter can only think that no one would particularly miss this place.

For a world class company (and the only dominant economic force across all the continents), this place sure is stingy. Harry made a face as he picked out pieces of polka-dotted purple hair from his “meat pie” and promptly decided that he’ll risk his chances in the slums instead or call in some favors. He really missed Aerith’s homemade chocolate chip cookies.


	2. Act II

**VIII.**

“Hey! What do you lot think you’re doing?” Harry shouted as he rounded a corner and saw a group of blue-uniformed cadets kicking a small creature crouching on the ground.

In a stereotypically villainous way, the bullies all stopped and turned to Harry. “And what’s it to ya, hm? Move along- nothing to see here- not unless you want to end up like this backwater hick.”

On closer inspection, the small creature was in fact an abnormally small cadet who bore a striking resemblance to a chicabo. Poor kid was sniffling on the floor and trying to stop his broken nose from bleeding. It was bent at an odd angle, but a Curaga-boosted Episky would heal that in a blink.

“Oh? On contrary, I think you all should be taking your own advice…Smith,” Harry gave his best cocky Sirius impression, and just as he predicted, the bullies moved as one towards him and roared. (Sirius never fails to piss people off, and it’s his trademark to make people want to punch him in the face for saying “Good morning”.)

Harry wasn’t really paying attention at this point; he was on autopilot as he flipped and threw his way through the gang of bullies. A dislocated shoulder here and a knee to the groin there… It was all the norm for him. He’s practically ancient in his years anyways (a couple of green behind the ears teenagers aren’t going to do anything to him except maybe serve as a stretching exercise). Not to mention, he’s busy figuring out how to weasel his way out of extra duties for fighting in the hallways. Oh, and there’s that little blonde cadet that he still needs to patch up.

“Are you okay, kid?” Harry crouched down and pulled off his neck scarf for the kid. He ignored the pile of badly bruised, groaning, and maybe passed out final year cadets behind him. Those assholes had it coming, and it’s their fault for underestimating their opponent to begin with. Harry took out the materia that he kept in the back of his pocket watch and slotted them into the standard ShinRa bracer (strictly speaking, he’s not allowed materia, but he has a Confundus waiting for anyone who tells him otherwise).

The kid looked up with the widest baby blue eyes ever and a blood soaked scarf, and Harry wondered just exactly how the kid managed to survive in Midgar for any amount of time.

* * *

**IX.**

He got his answer a week later in the form of a spiky haired, walking wall of muscle.

“Spike!!” Came a large, summoning bellow. Harry, who was walking next to his new chicabo friend (Cloud, as he insists), tripped over his own shoes and ducked the flying hug that came out of nowhere. Luckily, he wasn’t the target of the hug.

“I’m back from my mission! Have you gotten into any more fights? Bribed the infirmary nurses to not tell, eh?” The walking beefcake put Cloud in what looked to be the most painful noogie in existence, and Harry wondered if he should try his luck at flipping the enhanced (there’s no way that guy  _ isn’t _ enhanced. Muscles like that don’t come by naturally.)

“What? No! Let go, Zack!” Cloud’s squeaky protests were muffled by the cadet issue scarf he was wearing, and his face has somehow disappeared under his mass of blonde spikes.

Harry surreptiously took a picture with his phone- for future references, of course. He  _ is _ a Turk in training, after all.

A good ten minutes later, when Cloud was let up for some air, the SOLDIER noticed Harry trying to blend in with the nearest wall.

“Who’s this, Spike?” Mako-bright blue eyes peered curiously at Harry’s equally bright but unenhanced eyes.

“This is Harry,” Cloud introduced while adjusting his uniform. “He’s my new friend.”

Harry couldn’t help but smile and give the little chicabo a rub on the head- the boy really was too adorable for his own good. The kid pouted and swatted away Harry’s hand. “Yeah, helped him out in a spot of trouble a while back.”

“Bullies again, Spike? Why those guys...” Zack sighed and seemed to droop. “Well, any friend of Spike’s is a friend of mine! I’m Zack Fair, SOLDIER Second Class!”

Harry’s jaw nearly dropped. Now he’s  _ really _ glad he didn’t try to flip this guy. Zack Fair, Second Class SOLDIER and Commander Angeal Hewley’s apprentice- there isn’t a person on this side of ShinRa who  _ doesn’t _ know who this guy is. How in the name of Gaia does Cloud get lucky enough to have friends in such high places? Perhaps  _ this _ is how he hasn’t died in Midgar yet…

* * *

**X.**

Zack turned out to be a semi-permanent fixture to Cloud and Harry both (to the Turk trainee’s surprise). He was surprisingly unguarded for a SOLDIER First class, though Harry wondered how much of that absentminded cheerfulness was real. On occasion, he saw glimpses of intelligence in Zack’s sharp blue eyes, and he’d wonder a bit more about his newfound friend.

For all of his fame in ShinRa, he never introduced Cloud or Harry to his mentor. ‘Well, he must be quite busy,’ Harry thinks. He is curious though, about what set the three commanders apart from the rest of the SOLDIER Firsts. Surely, there must be something.

Zack is a people person at heart, Harry thinks. Too bad he’s dragging along two introverts along for his adventures… two introverts who really can’t afford any type of demerit on their records.

“Zack!” Cloud whined as he tried to wriggle out of Zack’s grasp. Unlike Harry, he was much easier to catch and a lot more gullible. Harry, with his ancient knowledge and experience, knew better than to refuse and be dragged. Instead, he walked with the all the dignity of a tag-along to whatever nefarious (but usually harmless) adventure that Zack has planned. The last time he got involved, he ended up meeting every one of ShinRa’s female secretaries and cafeteria staff and got photo evidence that the canteen really did serve up behemoth.

He highly doubted that  _ this _ adventure would be any different, and he was proven right a short moment later.

“Yo Zack, who’re these two kids you’re draggin’ along with ya?” Harry turned his attention to standing in the middle of the lobby. Bad Slums Accent was in fact a redheaded Turk in an unbuttoned blue suit and wrinkled shirt. He looks like one of the slums gang kids- plucked straight out of purgatory and into hell, Harry thought.

“The name’s Reno, kiddies. Keep up if ya can.” The redhead smirked down at them, and Harry fought down the urge to punch out his teeth.

* * *

**XI.**

And of course Zack the Puppy would adopt puppies of his own, Tseng thought to himself as he skimmed through the latest reports on the cadets. Forget puppies- Angeal was going to have kittens, he thought with some amusement. It seems like the President’s personal fleet of cars have been...  _ graciously redecorated _ with phalluses of various sizes and colors. In very realistic depictions, complete with anatomically correct shading. He would be more impressed, of course, if he wasn’t the one handling the mess. The president was apocalyptic, as expected.

His son on the other hand, just crossed his arms and asked half-heartedly that they find the culprit. The right corner of his lips was curved up, Tseng privately noted. There’s a reason why most of the Turks can’t wait until the current President passes on (peacefully or not). His son, while bratty as bratty comes, was much more bearable.

Nonetheless, he still had to make a report and foist up a sacrificial lamb to take the blame. It’s not that he doesn’t already know  _ who _ to blame.

He rewound the security tape once more and observed Zack bodily dragging a struggling cadet over to Reno, who had the audacity to smirk at the security cameras. He knew where they were, of course. Tseng narrowed his eyes and rewound the tape once more. On second inspection, there was a second cadet- staying just on the peripheries of the camera’s lenses. He moved quietly with the crowd, clearly well versed in stealth. The Turk head was only a little surprised when he caught the sight of messy black hair and bright green eyes. Where the blond one was found, the black one usually wasn’t far behind. What he was surprised about, was how Turk-like the little watchmaker from the slums was already without any formal training.

Perhaps this bears more investigation, Tseng thought. He could scarcely believe his ears, when Aerith’s bodyguards called in one day and said that they found another, living and breathing, Cetra in the slums by complete accident. After all this trouble with Aerith’s mother, Aerith, and Hojo, another Cetra just appears out of thin air, plucked straight from a dim watchmaking shop. Cetra do not grow on trees, he remembered replying. Of course they would snatch up the boy before lest he meets an unfortunate end in the slums… or worse yet, end up in Hojo’s clutches. (He wouldn’t put it past the slimy scientist, given how many times he has talked about “breeding” the Cetra before.) It was only a bonus that the boy came already combat ready and quite proficient in magic. In fact, while his blood was perhaps more diluted than Aerith’s, his combat prowess was better by far.

Yes, as Turks, they will keep the boy far from the Science Department- if only for Aerith’s sake. Tseng flipped through his phone’s contacts and began making his report to the President. Just for that smirk, Reno would be taking the President’s personal guard duty for a month.

* * *

**XII.**

Cadet training was all in all, the same in every life he had the displeasure to end up in some form of military. Harry’s mind zoned out as he ran his laps, noting to keep himself somewhere in the middle of the pack all across the board. A very close observer would perhaps notice that he wasn’t as flushed as the other teens, wasn’t breathing as erratically and certainly had the most correct posture of them all.

An infinity of lifetimes means lots of time for hobbies of various kinds. In another life, he ended up as a triathlon star simply because he could. Maybe this lifetime he can go back to his watchmaking- it’s a craft that he’s never fully explored before (and thanks to the untimely arrival of Tseng, one that he hasn’t had the chance to master).

A loud jeer broke him out of his reverie. He saw one of Cloud’s regular tormenters laughing at the small blond cadet again, who was busy chucking up his breakfast at the side of the tracks. Harry sighed. Time to intervene again.

He turned back and ran opposite to the other cadets. The drill sergeant yelled at him until his face was swollen and puce, but Harry couldn’t care less. If it really bothered him, a confundus will do the job just as well.

“Smith, was it?” Harry asked lowly. His face was overshadowed by his bangs- on purpose, of course. His old Unspeakable habits were coming back, and he knew how to use his uncommonly bright eyes to his advantage.

“I wouldn’t say criticize him all that much, you see. Feeling a bit weak climbing down stairs now, hm? Best be careful with that other leg.” Harry clapped the burly boy all friendly-like on the shoulders and tapped the boy’s knee with his heel. The boy instantly shut up and looked uneasy. Harry smirked. Just last week, he kicked the boy in the knee in one of their fighting bouts and knew for sure that the ACL tore. He just never bothered to tell the bully about it, the boy didn’t dare to go to the infirmary.

Never let it be said that he didn’t feel cruel at times. They scrambled to get back on the tracks to avoid getting assigned even more laps.

“Cloud,” Harry said and knelt down with a sigh. He ignored the stench of ShinRa’s disgusting canteen food mixed with stomach acid and patted his friend on the back. A hiccup. Harry looked down and saw that on top of the vomit coming out of his friend’s lips, there were also tears trailing down his cheeks.

“Oh Cloud…” Harry murmured. He wanted his friend to do well, he really did. He has yet to meet this world’s hero and fulfill the prophecy, but that didn’t mean that he can’t live his own life the way he chooses to. It was their third year in the cadet training program. One more year, and they would be tested for SOLDIER, where running laps was the least of their concerns.

He personally didn’t care about passing the exams. He was a shoe in for the Turks anyways, and that actually required him to  _ fail _ the exams on purpose (after all, only those unfit for combat will end up with the “Department of Administrative Research”). However,  _ Cloud _ clearly cared very much about being a hero (and all the glint and glam that came with it- Harry has had more than his share of that, thank you very much), and damn if his old as dirt friend won’t help him get there.

Does that mean he won’t need to do his job if Cloud does it for him? A very brief laugh in the winds told him no. Ah well, it was a good try.

“You’re going to need some help,” Harry said firmly and helped his friend up. The poor boy had no idea what sort of devilish training program Harry was putting together in his head.

* * *

**XIII.**

“I’m sorry, Spike. I’m not allowed to show favoritism by helping you.” Zack said with his head hung. His eyes were hard as they glared down at the floor. Harry thought that perhaps someone had already addressed the issue with him; Cloud’s struggles were nothing new, and any friend would want to help. “You know I want to though- I’d do anything to help if I could.”

“It’s alright, Zack,” Cloud said, a cup of warm water in his hand. His gentle blue eyes were forgiving (too forgiving, in Harry’s opinion. He’d hardly last more than a week out there somewhere.) He was in the infirmary again- a bout of food poisoning this time- when he mentioned Harry’s plans of training and mentorship to Zack.

“I could take you on as a mentee if you made the SOLDIER exams though,” Zack said with a cheerful smile, perking up a bit. “The mentorship program’s always taking applicants.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” Cloud said with a small smile. Harry knew that in his friend’s mind, even he didn’t think he’d make the cut. Well, we’ll see about that, Harry thought.

“But it’s alright if  _ I _ train him, right?” Harry said, his arms crossed and leaning on the white washed wall.

Zack blinked and looked at the Other Spike, as he’d come to call Cloud’s shadow. His mako blue eyes narrowed. Well, Harry wasn’t fazed in the least. “Well yes, there’s nothing in the rules against cadets helping each other.” But it was rarely done. That part went unsaid. In this dog-eat-dog world, it was a blessing if you went unnoticed, let alone getting help from anyone else.

“Well, that’s settled then,” Harry nodded. Both of them knew that even with Harry more or less downplaying his grades, he was more than good enough to pass the examinations. A moment later, he added, “You can’t help us directly per se, but… hm, let’s say you  _ accidentally _ misplaced your keycard to the training rooms?”

Zack blinked and laughed uproariously. He knew the Blackie would have a mien for pranks sooner or later. He was good for Spike, all Turks and shadows where Spike was light and innocence. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding- with Harry in charge of Spike’s training, he felt a bit less worried for his friend.

* * *

**XIV.**

The SOLDIER training room on the 49 th floor was where Genesis Rhapsodos found the pair for the first time. It was late, he knew, but his shoulder had been bothering him and keeping him up at night again. Some training would do him good, to stretch out the strained muscles, he thought.

“Again,” he heard a voice command strictly. It sounded like one of the drill sergeants. “No, your footwork is wrong- your feet face forward, not turned inwards like that- again.”

How odd, that the training room would be occupied in the dead of night, he thought. Very rarely did he meet a SOLDIER who would train so much, let alone one who did so this late. The majority of those muscle heads relied solely on their mako enhancements- all the more fool of them. He peeked his head in, long turquoise crystal earring swinging gently, only to see that there weren’t any  _ SOLDIERS _ in there- just two cadets.

Zack the Puppy’s adopted little black chicabo and gold chicabo. Genesis raised an eyebrow. He knew of the terrible two, of course. He’d feel a bit more pity for the goldie if he would grow a spine and stop letting Angeal’s Puppy drag him into trouble, and the sneaky blackie was never blamed (if he was seen at all). He didn’t care enough for Angeal’s Pup to meet him beyond work, let alone the Pup’s pets. But it was an enigma how the black one moved with the ease and grace of a veteran when he should be just as much of a cadet as the rest. His stances and katas were on point- smooth and powerful. He explained the concepts and footwork patterns with one who had decades to analyze them.

This cadet shouldn’t even  _ be _ a cadet, Genesis thought. The goldie, on the other hand, looked constipated with the effort to absorb the words. But clearly, there was some improvement after each time his shadow stopped him to correct one stance or another. Genesis thought that if the smaller cadet needed this much help just to manage a pass, he probably wasn’t fit for the program to begin with either (nevermind that much of the same was said to himself when he was a cadet).

This is interesting, he thought and settled outside through the observatory windows to watch.

* * *

**XV.**

Harry knew of the Commander’s presence from the minute that ridiculously long battle hazard of an earring swung and caught the light. He simply didn’t give a damn- he had a job to do, and he didn’t have the time to satisfy the curiosity of a stranger. His critical green eyes observed Cloud running through his katas, this time with a short sword in one hand. While one day, Cloud may grow buff enough to handle a broadsword like Zack, the sword will only do him more harm than good at this point. And thus, when Cloud reached for the broadswords from the armory rack, Harry patiently redirected his friend elsewhere.

“The broadswords are much too heavy for you without enhancement,” Harry said firmly. “They’re going to unbalance your stance. Learn to use them later when you’re enhanced, okay?”

Cloud pouted but listened to the older cadet nonetheless. Even with the simple change of switching weapons, Cloud improved by leaps and bounds. Harry gave himself a good pat on the back but did note that Cloud had a natural aptitude for smaller blades. For now, he was good enough to pass provided that he keeps his head straight in the exams.

“Good,” Harry clapped, and Cloud finished the last of his run through. “Your stances are much better now- don’t forget to follow through on your attacks, and use your speed and flexibility to your advantage.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Cloud panted. The look of pure gratefulness sent his way nearly had Harry knocked him over on his ass. He honestly didn’t do that much, and he wasn’t one for sleeping anyways. What did they do to this kid in that dinky middle of nowhere village to make him this grateful for just a little help?

“No problem, kid,” Harry smiled and ruffled Cloud’s sweat soaked hair (which was standing up even more than usual). “Now, I’m not worried about your academic grades at all, and you’re starting to put on a bit more muscle now that you’re working out every day. I think it’s time to move onto magic.”

Harry rummaged in his uniform and produced a handful of glassy orbs, small and unleveled, glowing brightly with different colors.

“These are materia!” Cloud gasped, leaning his sword on the wall carefully. “How did you get these?” Cadets weren’t allowed materia outside the classes- that was one of the reasons why cadets often failed on the magic part of the SOLDIER exams. Those without natural inclination to magic simply never got the practice they needed to learn.

Harry winked and juggled the materia in his hands with ease. “Let’s just say I know some people under the plate. Keep them, if you want. I’ve got my own set already.” You may take the kid out of the street, but you can’t take the street out of the kid, Harry thought with some amusement. It was true enough- even if he closed down his watch making shop, he still had some suppliers’ phone numbers. Plus, he was in ShinRa now and thus a possible ticket out of the slums for the desperate. People were much more compliant to his requests nowadays.

“Harry!” Cloud said, indignant. Always the easily offended honorable one and never for pranks or even rule bending, Harry thought with a sigh. Where did he go wrong with the blond?

“Nevermind where I got these- just keep them. Take it as a birthday present or something.” he said with a shrug. “Are you going to practice or not?”

Practicality warred with morality for a while before Cloud hesitantly reached out and took a green materia. Nodding, Harry did the same.

“Now, let’s begin with the most basic spell...” Harry began as he reached deep into his magical core.

* * *

**XVI.**

Genesis had been watching them for a while now, when he could be spared from mundane monster-hunting missions. It was interesting- maybe even fascinating- how the blackie’s grades clearly didn’t line up with his performance outside of school. A veteran like him easily recognizes another, logics be damned. He’ll eat his cloak if the black one hasn’t seen war. For the first time in the three months since they’ve started training, they touched on magic.

He wasn’t at all surprised when materia was seemingly produced out of nowhere. He read their files- both of them. Blackie there was a slums kid (and an artisan watch maker at that- how interesting) before the Turks found him and snatched him up. Slum kids always have their ways around the rules. Genesis didn’t complain- they always found the best contraband foods around (and sold them for an exorbitant price to their fellow cadets).

Genesis put one ungloved hand on the observer deck, looking down on the two figures and the brief flashes of magic. Even from this high up, he could feel the warmth from the fire spells. This is clearly not just a Fire spell, he thought to himself. The way Cadet Potter worked magic was something unlike any other. Despite his middling grades in all other subjects, he excelled in magic, earning the praises of his instructors many times over. It wasn’t hard to see why. The fire was almost  _ fond _ of him (he would be jealous- almost- if it wasn’t unbecoming of a commander of his status), taking the form of a magnificent phoenix and curled lovingly about his shoulders yet not singing his hair in the slightest. The firaga spells were deadly and beautiful, compressed white hot fire of animals- of birds of prey and mystical creatures… butterflies, even. And he had complete control of them; Genesis has never seen anything quite like it.

The blond one struggled a lot more with his spells, barely producing spluttering fireballs, but his friend was always patient. It reminded Genesis of the times when Angeal would help him with his swordplay, back when they were both cadets (days that he didn’t particularly care to reminisce about, to be quite honest). In their defense, Strife was already doing much better than the average cadet, and he seems to be well on his way to learning materia properly if Potter was the one doing the teaching.

The lightning spells, blizzard spells, even cure spells were all just as  _ abnormal _ around Cadet Potter- they didn’t take the forms of blizzard, blizzara, blizzaga spells. They took on very organic forms- magic without a guidance. Yet, they were all clearly powerful, and Potter didn’t even look winded. He looked almost fond, as if holding materia in his hands is the most natural thing for him to do. How intriguing.

Genesis turned and left the observer deck, Rapier in one hand and a Banora White in the other. He wondered what the Cadet might do with a summons.

* * *

**XVII.**

“… Fire by itself is a volatile spell, Cloud. You need to be willful and confident- exert your will over the spell but yet let it have its freedom. Don’t confine the spell like you would Blizzard- give it direction and set it loose. I know you’re better with Blizzard, but you need to know how to use all the basic spells. Casting magic isn’t just about pouring in MP and letting it rip. That’s the worst possible thing you can do to a materia.” Potter lectured. Strife looked to be on the verge of jotting down notes.

“Bravo,” Genesis said smoothly, as he sauntered into the training room, crimson cloak billowing behind him.

“Sir!” The two cadets snapped a crisp salute, materia in hand. Harry’s one was not quite as regulation perfect as Cloud’s, but in his experience, people like the Genesis rarely minded the protocol. Hell, the man himself was chewing on a purple apple while in the training room. Since when do apples grow purple anyways?

“No formalities- not at this hour,” the commander waved away their salutes. “More importantly… What you did was impressive,” he said, leveling his mako gaze at Harry, who met it unflinchingly (and a bit bored). The man was clearly a mage- magic swirls around him. Anyone trained as a mage would be able to pick it up clearly. Yet, something tells him that the Planet is… oddly fond of this man for some reason.

“You were watching us, Sir?” Cloud asked, once again getting the chocobo-in-headlights look. Even his spikes stood straighter, Harry thought with a snort. Poor kid looks so much like jailbait, Harry would have to remember how to imitate him for later missions.

“He’s been watching us since a couple months ago, Cloud,” Harry answered, stretching languidly. “I didn’t bother telling you because you’d just get all tripped up.”

“And you’d know, how?” Genesis asked, his voice smooth, an eyebrow raised. He tapped his sword against his thigh- a habit of sorts.

“As if I could miss the gaze boring holes into my back, Sir,” Harry said with a smirk, eyes flickering to the observer deck which was covered with tinted one-way glass.

Genesis barked a laugh at that. It was nice to see cadets with some spine nowadays. He turned his attention back to the original topic. “You- you are a natural with materia. Almost an  _ instinctual _ grasp,” he said, baiting the cadet into coughing up some more information.

Harry only shrugged, not in the least bothered by the man’s attempt at wheedling an answer. “I’m just good with materia, Sir.”

“Like you are good at the rest of your grades, Cadet?” Genesis asked, sea green eyes crinkled with laughter.

“You looked through our profiles, Sir,” Harry said, almost accusingly. Sneaky sneaky. “They speak for themselves.” At this, Cloud looked down at the ground with shame. He knew what  _ his _ must look like.

“They do,” Genesis conceded. “They aren’t accurate, clearly- for both of you.” Cloud’s head snapped up, hope bright in his eyes. Ah, the innocence of youth- so that’s what it looks like, Genesis thought with a bit of humor.

Harry shrugged. “Then you should know that perhaps I’m a bit more interested in Administrative Research, Sir.”

At this, Genesis raised  _ both _ eyebrows, looking extra unimpressed, on top of his holier-than-thou stare. Really? Really. After all this, the cadet intends to fail. “Administrative Research. You’re wasted in  _ Administrative Research _ .”

Cloud blinked, wondering why his friend wanted to be a secretary of all things and why Commander Rhapsodos seemed almost insulted that he wanted to be a secretary. Was he missing something here?

Clearly, the man did not have a good opinion of the Turks, but damn if he was consenting to genetic alteration, Harry thought. “Well Sir, I’m a watchmaker by profession. I have no grandiose dreams of heroism or fame. I will not consent to genetic alteration of any kind- I like to go to sleep knowing what species I am, Sir,” Harry replied happily.

Genesis almost sighed. The slums ones were always practical. Sometimes painfully so. But still, to let a materia mage of his caliber to slip away into the  _ Turks _ \- that was absolutely  _ unacceptable _ . “ _ Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess. _ We’ll see about that.”

Guess that means we’ll be seeing a lot more of the Crimson Commander, Harry thought, wondering how Genesis intends to persuade him. His life has suddenly become a lot more complicated.

* * *

**XVIII.**

“That’s Loveless, Act I,” Genesis said from the side as he watched Cloud cast a blizzaga with ease. While the dark one was clearly the better warrior, the blondie wasn’t bad at all, now that he wasn’t shrinking away with shyness. Cloud was almost like him as a cadet- short, slight, better with materia than with blades. Genesis could never be called shy, but he could work with that.

“… Is that a prophecy? It sounds like one.” Harry asked cautiously. His dreaded Prophecy of Doom senses were tingling again. He held the Banora White in his hands, a snack given to him during the brief break from training his magic.

“Have you never heard of it?” Genesis asked, disappointment and disapproval coloring his tone.

“I’ve heard  _ of _ it. Who hasn’t heard of it, living in Midgar? I’ve just never bothered to read it.” Harry replied around a bite of apple. “I’m a watchmaker by profession. I go above the plate to sell watches, not to watch plays.”

“A watchmaker, hm? Would you happen to have your work with you?” Genesis asked curiously. He’s fond of pretty things- especially handmade- and artisan watches do fetch a hefty price above the plate.

Harry considered for a bit before taking out his silver pocketwatch. It was held with a plain silver chain clipping to his cadet belt. On the cover was glowing green materia embedded on the cover- looking like a plain piece of emerald for decoration purposes. A detailed carving of a lion decorated the back.

“This is excellent craftsmanship,” Genesis said, pleasantly surprised at the quality of the design. Even he had to admit to that. “May I?” He asked.

“Sure,” Harry unclipped the pocketwatch with ease and passed it over.

On closer inspection, Genesis could see runes of some sort carved on the cover around the materia. He popped the lid open. On the inside was a small phoenix down feather, curled up and taped back by a piece of gold film. Practical and beautiful. He could see why the cadet aimed for the Turks- this was precisely the sort of thing that Turks would do. SOLDIERs wouldn’t think to hide their weaponry.

“May I commission one?” Genesis asked before he could really help himself, already thinking of which of his materia he should slot in the cover. He sent a small stream of magic into the materia on the watch- a cure materia, by the looks of it. It glowed neon green.

“Sure, with your permission to actually make one, of course.” Harry said, more than happy to pick up his trade as a watchmaker once more. And this time Tseng can’t call it a potential bomb threat if he has the approval of a superior to make it, he thought gleefully. He should still have his tools and his materials in his shop, even if the premade watches have mostly been sold already.

“Given,” Genesis said, waving his concerns away. Harry grinned. He  _ really _ wasn’t one for protocols then. Hell,  _ the man himself _ was a walking bomb threat.

“You’ll have to provide me with whatever materia you want slotted into the watch though. I’d also like a copy of Loveless in return and some help with the text,” Harry said, bargaining his return for the watch. He wanted no money from the man- just maybe some help with whichever damn prophecy he’s supposed to fulfill.

Genesis only looked like Christmas came early for him. Which, seeing how he had a new Loveless convert to educate and a new toy to play with, was pretty much the same thing.

* * *

**XIX.**

“Genesis? Really?” Zack asked incredulously one day in the cafeteria. He watched Harry tinker the finer details of the watch-in-making with great interest. The cadet had the hands of a mage- delicate and small, not for holding swords at all. That doesn’t stop him from being any less deadly, of course. For a big and burly SOLDIER like Zack? He didn’t have the finesse for something so detailed.

“He’s not the bad sort,” Harry said firmly, siding with the fellow magic user. He knows a genuine love for magic when he saw it, and training sessions with Genesis was always fun.

Genesis did get around to making Harry do some summoning, in the end. In hindsight, they really didn’t think this through; when Harry summoned Shiva, she took one look at her summoner,  _ bowed _ and proceeded to call up a huge bizzard that cracked the walls apart completely. In the heart of the roaring ice and snow, she told Harry,

_ “We have been waiting long for your arrival, World Traveler. The Calamity is coming. You know the words of Minerva to be brought to truth; you have the Planet’s Champion by your side. You have what you need to do what you have to. We are forever in your debt.” _

In dissipating the blizzard, she also froze over all the swords in the room, short circuited the cameras, and broke the glass on the observer’s deck into a million little pieces.

It was only inevitable that their training sessions would end in a ruined training room one day, and that was the day. He still laughed when he recalled the mortally offended look on Genesis’ face when the Ice Goddess froze him over too, cloak and sword and all. She never  _ bowed _ to him all the times he summoned her, the commander grumbled. It only added to his suspicions, but Harry lived in comfort knowing that whatever Genesis’ brain cooked up as an explanation, it wouldn’t be anything close to the truth.

It was worth the punishment, he thought privately. There wasn’t much of an aftermath- both him and Cloud were assigned to the graveyard shift of patrols for staying out beyond the curfew, and Genesis had been “officially reprimanded” by the General for contacting the cadets at all, let alone letting them summon Shiva. Neither of them were punished for using SOLDIER training rooms- Genesis told Sephiroth that he was the one to let them in, of course. Of course, the General sighed and added another monster extermination mission to Genesis’ mission roster.

Their dorm mates were very thoroughly afraid of them now, and Smith had dropped out of the program to get his knee fixed, finally. Tseng watched them both a bit closer now, Harry noted. Even the Turk seemed vaguely curious about the pocket watch he was making right in the middle of canteen. More than once, the normally placid cadet snapped at others for shifting the infinitesimally small parts that they didn’t even know existed. Genesis had given him a  _ Bahamut _ , of all materia, stating that the only time he would need to be clandestine is when he’s without his sword, so he might as well compensate with a stronger materia. Of course, Harry thought exasperatedly. He knew that summoning Bahamut to one of the company’s dinners is a disaster in the making, but it was such a Genesis thing to do that he went ahead and accepted the materia anyways.

To his side, Cloud was chatting with Zack animatedly about Shiva and how amazing she was. Zack was clearly amused listening to Cloud rant about how pretty Shiva was and how  _ totally awesome _ Diamond Dust is. Unlike Cloud, Zack has summoned the naked blue goddess more than once. The blond was doing a lot better nowadays. The additional training did him a world of good; he bulked up a bit (but never as much as his peers), and getting personal training from Genesis improved his confidence by miles. It didn’t matter how bulky he was as long as he knew his way around a sword well enough. Less muscle mass meant that he was faster than his peers. Now watching him, Harry can hardly remember the same cadet throwing up in morning PT around the tracks. The shine in his eyes had nothing to do with mako- only the enthusiasm of youth. And it seemed that Cloud has a bit of a crush on Shiva now, Harry thought with a laugh.

“Loveless too?” Zack whined at Harry. He was starting to get a bit suspicious, Harry could tell. He didn’t know why- mages do stick together, after all. “Don’t you go quoting that thing at me- I get enough of that from Genesis!”

“I’m not to the point of quoting it… yet,” Harry said, mischievous. Zack squawked and gave him a painful noogie. In truth, he’d never quote a prophecy. The more people believed in it, the more powerful it gets. He’d rather not rock the proverbal boat if he can help it. Still… clearly, he was the wandering soul. And he’d have to prevent all of this mess, one way or another… It was really more trouble than it was worth. He wondered what “sacrifice” he’d have to offer up at the end of the day.

* * *

**XX.**

“We summoned Shiva and broke the training room,” Harry snickered and recounted his week’s adventure to Aerith. He didn’t have the free time anymore, but he visited the church whenever he could. The Turks never stopped him, though he did see Reno whistling outside the church, tapping his electo-rod against his shoulder idly. A warning of some sorts. Harry snorted. He’d fit right in with the slum rats if he took off his jacket. As it was, Harry only nodded at him and offered a quiet “Good morning sir,” before walking into the church. He heard the Turk snort from behind him and didn’t bother turning.

“You did?” Aerith laughed, her laughter almost like tinkling bells. She knelt in the flower fields, picking away at wilted leaves. The flowers hummed with pleasure, enjoying the feel of the Ancient’s hands on their soft petals. It was almost eerie, if Harry wasn’t used to his life being a topsy-turvy mess by now.

“We did- Genesis wanted to see how I’d do with summons.” Harry shook his head and pried off more of the floor boards. “He said my magic’s pretty powerful- unnaturally so. I don’t even know why he thinks summoning in a confined space is a good idea, even if it is Shiva, and now I’m making him a pocketwatch with  _ Bahamut _ slot into it, of all materia. He even sent Cloud and I a fruit basket each with Banora Whites as congratulations for blowing up our first training room!”

Aerith looked highly amused at his ridiculous life. Harry told her of his daily life often enough that it was almost as if she knows the people in it already. She could almost picture them and see their responses. “It could be from your heritage. From what my mother tells me, Cetra usually have two types- white mages like me, who heal- and black mages, who work the offensive spells. You could be a black mage,” she mused.

Harry still didn’t quite have the heart to break it to her that he wasn’t Cetra at all, but for now he’ll roll with the punches. He assumes the mother in question would be the dead one.

“Do you know what the Calamity is? And who is Minerva?” Harry asked her absently, running Shiva’s words over her mind.

Aerith stopped abruptly n her work and looked up at Harry unblinkingly. Even the lifestream stopped its humming around her. She’s doing the Cetra staring thing again, Harry thought with a resigned sigh. The stare never goes away, no matter what form Luna’s soul takes.

“Where did you hear those words?” She asked, her tone even.

“Shiva said something to me when I summoned her,” Harry said. The Turks watching over them shifted in the dark. “I’m guessing summons aren’t supposed to talk? Why can I never seem to do anything normally?” Harry asked the air. The lifestream hummed around him, tinkling laughter telling him exactly what they thought of his life. Harry made a face.

Aerith shook her head, just as baffled as he is. “No, they don’t. They’re preserved memories of great powers- either natural history or demons or warriors of the past. They’re only memories… they’re not supposed to have the will to speak.”

“Oh.” Harry wasn’t sure what to say to that, but he was used to unnatural things happening in his life.

“The Calamity is a tale from the Cetra’s past. She’s an alien that fell to the Planet a very long time ago in a meteor. She took on the form of Cetra and killed many of our kind. It took almost all of us to seal her away in the Norther Crater,” Aerith recalled, weaving a sad tale of woe once more. Harry listened with patient ears, inclined on finding out more about the history of the planet he’s supposed to save.

* * *

**XXI.**

The SOLDIER exams came and went, and Harry failed on purpose like he planned. His hard work made sure that Cloud passed with a wide margin to spare, a feat that made his friend bodily tackle him in thanks.

“Thank you!” He said enthusiastically, acting every bit the teenager he was and nothing like a professional SOLDIER.

“Congrats on making it to Third Class,” Harry smiled and gave his friend a good hug. He presumed that Cloud would not have made the cut without the training, so maybe he was already fulfilling whatever role was intended for him. “Go out and have a good dinner with Zack.”

“You’re not coming?” Cloud asked and then immediately felt guilty. Of course he wasn’t coming- there was nothing to celebrate about failing the exam.

“No, I’m not,” Harry said with a smile. “I need to finish up Genesis’ pocketwatch so he can go summon giant dragons in the middle of dinner.”

Even Cloud snorted at that. Genesis would do it, too.

“Don’t worry about exams. I’ll tell you the details a bit later, but I actually failed on purpose,” Harry said with a conspiring wink.

“On purpose?” Cloud asked, curious as to why his friend would do such a thing.

“The Department of Administrative Research is otherwise known as the Turks,” Harry replied.

Oh. Suddenly, things make sense, Cloud realized as he remembered Harry’s original words to Genesis. He would have to agree with the commander. It  _ is _ wasted potential to put Harry in the Turks, but he can’t deny that it suits the thin cadet to a T. He blends in well, for someone with the skills made to stand out.

“Well, you should probably go- I need to finish up here, and you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now,” Harry pointed out logically.

Cloud took one look at the clock and bolted.

* * *

**XXII.**

Four acerbic words greeted Harry when he knocked on Genesis’ door that evening. “You. Failed. On. Purpose!”

Well, it was better than four fireballs, that was for sure. Or perhaps he’d rather flambe the ripped up pieces of paper on the dinner table… Presumably the exam results.

To Harry’s credit, the sight of an angry Genesis didn’t faze him in the least. “So I did. I told you I want to be in the Turks. What did you assume I’d do?”

Genesis let out a sound of utter frustration and rage.

“Sir,” Harry said slowly as if talking to a toddler and not someone half a dozen ranks above him. “I don’t think you understood my words the first time I said them. I  _ can’t _ be a SOLDIER,” he said.

Genesis turned his attention to the cadet, turquoise eyes still blazing with rage. His cheeks were flush red with anger; it shouldn’t be a pretty sight, but it is, Harry shrugged. He was sure the man practically bled elegance.

In response, Harry only shook his head and tapped his temple, right next to his unenhanced-but-mako-green eyes. “I’m afraid there’s more to my heritage than I can tell you. All I can say is that I absolutely  _ cannot _ be in SOLDIER, not because I lack the capability for it. You know I could pass that exam with my hands tied behind my back,” Harry sighed and decided to throw Genesis a bone. Just the matter of his supposed heritage with the Cetra, and whatever conclusions Genesis will draw on his own about his magic, would hopefully get the commander off his back for a while.

The anger slowly faded from Genesis’ posture, now replaced by blatant curiosity and intelligence. The man is like a cat playing with a yarn ball, Harry thought, rolling his eyes. “Is that so?” He asked slowly.

“It is,” Harry said, standing firm.

“Well, either way, I have your pocketwatch done,” Harry said, holding up a box in between them as a peace offering. “Do give it a try some time, just not maybe when I’m around,” he grinned cheekily. He was out of there before Genesis decided to try out that materia.

He had a job interview with Veld to get to.


	3. Act III

**XXIII.**

He got hired on the spot, surprising absolutely no one. It was already well known among the Turks that Harry was at least part Cetra and had freaky inexplicable magical powers of dubious origin- Hojo was in the dark about both parts, and they’d very much like to keep it that way.

The first order of business was meeting the rest of the department. The Turks were an odd bunch, Harry figured. They worked in pairs, and they weren’t big on protocol. They all looked serious on the job, but the majority of them were quite laid back off the job, Reno in particular with his skirt chasing tendencies. Veld was a middle aged man with a goatee who acted like he has known Harry for a while (even though it was Harry’s first time seeing him). The mage wasn’t surprised that the Turks all know him to some degree, given his close relationship with Aerith. Still, he could see Veld’s charm and how that exact charm can be disarming even to the sternest of opponents. Beneath the appearance of a suave man in the navy blue suit was a shrewd commander, one working easily in the shadows.

Looks like he’d have to be careful in digging up information, Harry thought to himself. He still has yet to find his exact purpose in coming to this world, but ShinRa servers were probably his best bet. It was risky of him, to join the Turks with an ulterior motive in mind, but Harry lived for the thrill.

For his first mission, he was paired with a Turk code named Shuriken. She was a young woman with wavy auburn hair and amused brown eyes. She observed the world from the sidelines, content to remain in the darkness. She is a woman of little words, yet Harry can tell that she is by no means unintelligent.

“Looks like I’m on babysitting duty today,” she said with a shake of her head, her gloved hand holding a bright red shuriken. “Call me Cissnei.”

“I’m Harry. Baby Turk extraordinaire,” he introduced drily as they made their way to the armory.

Cissnei laughed; it a delicate sound. “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine then.” She observed as Harry expertly twirled a pair of obsidian colored long knives around and slipped down the back of his suit. They were just like the pair that his mother left him- the pair that still rests hidden on his body. She still observed without a word as he pretty much emptied the store of spare summoning materia, elixirs, and expensive bracers. When he reappeared with his arm fully of glowing orbs, his hair in utter disarray, and his suit hitched up from the swords sheathes, she smirked and took a picture. Harry glared. Baby Turks.

* * *

**XXIV.**

For most of his missions, he was paired Cissnei. They worked well in a team, Harry thought. Cissnei was a frighteningly competent opponent in short to mid range, and he provided the necessary long ranged support with his spells. She was fast, accurate, and powerful, and his stat boosters only made her more so. His curagas and esunas were much welcomed as well.

“You are very good with materia,” Cissnei remarked one day outside the plains of Kalm while wiping down her shuriken. The monster extermination mission roster was full again, and the overflow went to the Turks. More often than not, Turks who are more suited to field work, like Cissnei, are sent out to deal with the monsters. To assign such a mission to the information gathering or espionage folk will only spell their doom.

“It’s a talent of mine, yes,” Harry nodded and smiled. She stared contemplatively at him for a while and went back to her weapon care. That was the end of that conversation.

From then on, whenever the Turks needed long ranged support or went on high leveled missions, Harry was always assigned.

“I thought I was the Baby Turk,” Harry half-heartedly complained to Reno one day. “Aren’t I supposed to take it easy?” They were in two pairs today, with Cissnei off with Rude and Harry with Reno.

“Don’t complain, yo. You ain’t gonna be a baby for long. Not with those fancy balls o’ yours,” Reno winked at the materia glowing in Harry’s bracers. “Whatever funky voodoo you do, it’s mighty useful, ain’t it? There’s no point in keepin’ ya in reserve when you’re better out here doin’ field work.”

Harry only pouted, rubbing his dislocated (and then hastily relocated) shoulder. He wouldn’t mind more off days. He hasn’t had the chance to catch up with Cloud and Zack for a while. Genesis, he can’t quite avoid since the commander can just easily pluck him out of the Turks’ hold for a spar or two. Annoying as he is, Reno was one of the more experienced Turks in the department, and he was right. A mere three months into the program later, Harry was called into Veld’s office.

He wondered if Veld had somehow discovered his hacking habits. Hacking was one of the many things taught to Turk trainees, along with gambling, espionage, stealth, disguises, and other forms of spywork and weaponry. Of course, Harry knew better than to utilize the same hacking methods he was taught; if they were comfortable enough with teaching hacking to trainees, they would have taken defensive measures against hackers using the same teachings. Instead, he used the knowledge from his previous worlds- from worlds in space, worlds with battleships and technology far far more advanced than ShinRas. When it comes down to it, hacking into ShinRa’s system was but child’s play to him. What he found wasn’t comforting at all. He hasn’t gone through all of it; he knew better than to linger. Instead, he saved all of the information from ShinRa’s servers into several external hard drive and his own servers, back in his locked-down dingy workshop under the plate. He’ll have to go through them later.

He idly wondered if Genesis and the other two SOLDIER first class knew about their origins. Far be it for him to be the one to tell them. They would only ask questions he can’t answer. He did find Aerith’s records though; now he understood why the Turks wanted to keep him as far away from the science department as possible. Even he felt slightly nauseous at Hojo’s plans for the girl. By Merlin, she was only an unborn child at the time! If he ever sees Hojo, he’d have a couple of Unspeakable spells waiting for him to try out.

Nonetheless, if he was caught, he’ll only have to admit to it. Veld isn’t the type of person to play around. As such, he knocked on the door with some trepidation.

“Come in,” Veld’s voice called. As usual, his office was absolutely swarmed with towers of paper. The paperwork was almost threatening to consume the desk pace altogether, probably to perform a coup de etat and kick Veld out of his own office entirely, Harry wondered.

Harry’s lips twitched when he saw the state of Veld’s desk. “Reno told me you wanted to see me, sir. I’ll have a firaga waiting for him if he’s lying to me.”

Veld chuckled. Reno would to that too, just for the kicks of dodging the Turks’ best mage operative. “No, he’s not lying to you this time. I did call you here.”

“Is there something I can do for you then, Sir?” Harry asked, an eyebrow raised. So he wouldn’t have to set Reno’s hair on fire this time. He wasn’t disappointed… maybe just a little. He wanted to see how well Reno’s electro-rod would take a Tri-thundaga. Probably not that well at all.

Veld steepled his fingers and propped up his chin. It would be a more intimidating sight in the dim lighting of a paper filled office, if Harry wasn’t far older than he can ever comprehend.

“What do you think of the Turks so far?” He asked casually, almost as if they were talking about the weather.

What does he think of the Turks? Harry echoed. How is he supposed to answer that one? “It’s alright, Sir. I get along well enough with the others. Cissnei is very professional, and Reno… is a nuisance but one that I can bear with.”

Veld chuckled. Nuisance would be a kind word to describe Reno. If he wasn’t so valuable of an information gatherer and field work operative, he was sure that he would have been kicked out for sexual harassment by now.

“And your life outside the Turks?” He pressed on.

“I still keep in contact with the friends I made in my cadet days, and I still visit Aerith under the plate when I’m able to. I believe you know of Commander Rhapsodos’ tendency to disrupt my schedule on a semi-regular basis. I haven’t seen any scientists if that’s what you’re asking me, Sir,” Harry replied.

“Ah, so you do know of your… heritage, then?” Veld hedged.

“It’s only a little hard to miss, when you’re hearing voices in your head,” Harry said sarcastically. Veld chuckled again. “I know to exercise caution, Sir. There’s a reason why I never agreed to entering the SOLDIER program despite Commander Rhapsodos’ … ah, insistence.”

Veld laughed at that. It was well known that the Crimson Commander had taken a liking to their little watchmaker in his cadet days. The commander has a stubborn streak to match his temper, and it wasn’t uncommon to see him stalking the corridors of the Department of Administrative Research, looking to borrow their little mage for a spar or two.

Harry made a face. On top of being the to-call mage of the Turks, he was also their SOLDIER liaison of sorts. First there was Cloud, whom he would never abandon even if they ended up in different departments, then there was Zack, who insisted on staying friends even if he was a Turk (Harry suspects that perhaps they stayed friends precisely because he was a Turk, that sneaky old wolf), and then there was Genesis, who is still convinced that Harry is wasted in the Turks (though he made no more efforts to convince him to switch departments). Now that Cloud became an official SOLDIER, Zack was able to take him as a mentee and continue Cloud’s education. As Genesis was at least tolerant of Cloud, he was a bit less isolated than before- both of them. All in all, Harry considered it a job well done and patted himself on the back.

“Well, it seems like you’ve adjusted well to this department,” Veld said. Harry shrugged.

“I like my job,” he replied succinctly. He was surprised to realize that actually… he did like his job.

Veld smiled very slowly, his eyes never leaving Harry’s green ones. “I’m glad you do, Turk Harry. From now on, you’ll be known as operative code name: Materia. Welcome to the team.”

Harry blinked, feeling like he just got hit on the side by a freight train as he was ushered out of the office by a rather busty secretary (that Veld- didn’t know he had a dirty old man side to him). Did he just get promoted?

* * *

**XXV.**

“Yo, you makin’ bombs again, kid?” Reno draped himself over Harry casually in the Turk lounge. Now that he was no longer a cadet, he didn’t have to suffer cafeteria food.

“It’s not a bomb, Reno. It’s art,” Harry said, miffed. He never did quite stop with his watch making- he only practiced quietly now, when the rest of the Turks were away. His past was well known to the Turks, and the female ones seemed at least interested in his work. Shotgun was particularly enamored and commissioned several of her own. Even the stoic and no non-sense Gun reluctantly asked about them one day and ended up commissioning one for her little sister. And it wasn’t just the ladies who asked after his watches- they are practical on a day to day basis for the Turks: Tseng asked for one for Rufus, Veld asked for two (though who the second one is going to escapes Harry), and Knife cheerfully asked for a couple of her own and dropped him a wad of gil. He was sure that if he wasn’t invaluable to the Turk force as a field operative, he would be recruited to make watches for the company on a full time basis. As things were, he couldn’t be spared from the frontlines for his hobby.

“Art’s a bang, yeah?” Reno snickered, quoting a line from one of the Midgardian comics he often read.

Harry snorted. Little did the red head know that the comics were actually real life in a different world. It wasn’t a particularly pleasant world, in his opinion- far too much bloodshed and child soldiers. He remembered the bright kid with the blond hair with dreams bigger than his head and wondered how he was doing now along with his two friends who stayed loyal by his side. With the crazy goddess crisis averted in their world, he didn’t really stick around for the next crisis before he got offed and was sent to the next world in need of his expertise.

“What’cha making this fo’?” he asked, plopping down on the couch and pulling out a cloth to rub down his electro-rod. He only does this ten times a day, Harry thought to himself. That electro-rod’s probably the best kept part of his uniform.

“Hm… It’s for someone, as a gift.” Harry murmured, etching on delicate lines with a steady hand.

“A girl, yo?” Reno snickered. “’Bout time ya started growin’ up and chasin’ skirts. Just don’t be in a rush to grow up too quickly, ya hear?” Reno ruffled Harry’s hair with scarred hands. He was almost an older brother to the younger Turks, if he could be more mature, Harry supposed.

“Aww thanks, Reno. Would you prefer me going after guys then, if you won’t let me go skirt chasing?” Harry batted his lashes sarcastically at Reno and tilted his head to the side like one of the Honeybee Inn show girls. The only way to deal with a joker like Reno was to up the ante and fight fire with fire. Reno only roared with laughter and left Harry to his watchmaking after that.

* * *

**XXVI.**

“It’s for you,” Harry said, holding out a small rectangular box. “It’s your birthday, right?” he asked one day after a successful information gathering mission in Junon. They were standing on the helicopter docks, awaiting their transport out.

“You’ve been hacking the systems again,” Cissnei scolded, a smile playing at the edge of her lips. It was well known that every Turk trainee hacks into the system at one point, and most are caught and lightly reprimanded. Harry is one of the few who hasn’t been caught at all; Cissnei would never believe that he’s so well behaved as to not try. Even Reno hacked in to check the President’s records of expenditure to Honeybee Inn.

“It’s not like you’d tell me otherwise,” Harry argued. “Besides, Turk 101 says that I should kiss up to my boss and definitely double the kissing up if my boss is a chick.”

“Don’t take cues from Reno,” Cissnei scoffed. “You’ll only get punched in the face.” Harry laughed. It does happen quite often, and Reno’s misfortune is a source of amusement for all the Turks, whether they like to admit it or not.

“Well then here’s a birthday gift from me to you. Happy Birthday, Cissnei,” Harry said plainly.

She accepted the gift gracefully, withdrawing a pocket watch made of gold. A yellow materia was embedded on the cover. Surrounding it was etchings of feathers and wings, drifting around the materia in the center. She sent a small amount of MP into the materia to check which one it was.

“A Master Command?” Cissnei raised her eyebrows, impressed at the extravagance of the gift. “How did you get this?” To her knowledge, the Master Command materia could only be made from fusing seven mastered materia using the Huge Materia that was under ShinRa’s control.

“I know some people,” Harry grinned. Why, he simply broke in and borrowed the Huge Materia for a little bit. No one would have noticed anyways. And it’s a waste of gil to be making that stupid thing and not have anyone put it to good use. “Only the best for my boss, of course. Open the cover.”

She did as she was told, and she saw that besides the standard phoenix down on the back cover, the side of the watch hand lined carvings on the side. She looked to Harry in confusion.

“If you press the button of the watch in a certain way, the release mechanism will release the bits of metal. They’re pliant enough for you to bend them any way you want,” Harry explained. Portable lockpics in disguise would be a treasure in their occupation. “The back also has an area for you to put in a small capsule of any kind, whether it be pills or tracking devices,” he said. Of course, he wouldn’t want his superior to be taking any sort of pills, but with the situation in Wutai heating up, he can never be too careful.

He could tell she was pleased, even if she can’t express her feelings well enough.

“Why the wings?” she asked, running her fingers down the cover and the etchings on the sides.

Harry shrugged. “It suits you,” he said. It was just a feeling he had; his feelings were generally on point.

* * *

**XXVII.**

In the end, he did do some more digging regarding Genesis’ past. It wasn’t a pretty picture; human experimentation using something called JENOVA was barbaric. As he read, he could barely hear the Lifestream screech around him every time he mentioned that name. The Calamity, they whispered. Only the scientists seemed to think she was a Cetra of some sort. When he asked Aerith more about the Calamity, she couldn’t remember its name, but she mentioned that the creature would possess Cetra corpses to approach the Cetra settlements without anyone realizing. Perhaps that was why the scientists seem to think that she was Cetra, Harry wondered.

On further research, it seems that ShinRa was after the Promised Land, a place supposedly full of Mako. Human greed knows no bounds, Harry thought, aghast. It was akin to humans pulling down the heavens simply for oil. He shook his head.

Now, waiting for Genesis to show up to their weekly spars, he was wondering if he should tell Genesis about his origins… and how he should go about doing so. Perhaps his friend would like a treat to the Loveless avenue…? The idea had merit.

* * *

**XXVIII.**

“Stop,” Genesis called a stop to their spar, breathing hard. Harry got up from his crouching stance, his long knives held in reverse grips. He flipped them once before slipping them in their hostlers.

“Genesis?” Harry asked, frowning. As of late, he noticed that Genesis was getting slower… sluggish, almost. His spells lacked firepower, and they barely even burnt. His sword work was sloppy, becoming predictable and easy to dodge. “Is something wrong?” He felt a wave of unease when he laid a hand on Genesis shoulder. Harry could barely suppress a flinch as the Lifestream  _ screamed _ around him. He snatched his hand back, holding it as if burnt.

“No, just my shoulder wound,” he said, grimacing from pain. He spied the flinch and wondered if something was wrong with  _ Harry _ instead. After months of researching he was no closer in answering the riddle that was Harry’s past. His reaction just added to the mystery. The Turk hasn’t even uncovered the wound yet; there wasn’t any reason for him to flinch away.

“Here, let me see,” he insisted. He couldn’t very well force Genesis to do anything, but he’d damn well try.

Genesis knew the Turk well enough to know by the mulish set of his chin that he’ll most likely be ambushed down the corridors one way or another if he didn’t comply with the request, and he was far too tired to answer back. He motioned for Harry to help him out of his cloak. If Harry was surprised by his compliance, he didn’t show it. Instead, he looked grim as he observed the black oozing wound. It was necrotic- that was for sure. Maybe even gangrenous. From the mako green mixing in with the black, a curaga wouldn’t do anything but make it worse, and he told Genesis such.

“I figured that out quite well myself, thank you,” was the stuffy and pain filled reply. Black gloved hands held the bars of the weapon rack tensely, bending the metal at the edges. He snatched his shoulder back, intent on leaving the training room, but Harry pushed him back down. He may not be enhanced, but put his body weight behind his arm. Even that would give Genesis a pause.

“Well, let me try something. It’s… not materia magic, I promise.” Not materia magic? Genesis raised an eyebrow. What  _ other _ magic was there? Curious despite himself, he sat back down. He couldn’t see Harry, who was hovering over his back, but he could tell from his tone that the situation was grim. He figured as such, fingering the strands of silver that appeared overnight in his hair. He would never admit it to anyone- not even Angeal- but it was… almost frightening. Terrifying. What was he turning  _ into _ ?

Harry sat back on his haunches and wondered how on Earth he was supposed to fix this. He waved his hand over Genesis, covering the wound with a diagnostic spell. It came back as an infection and a cancer and degeneration all at once, and he wasn’t sure how to treat it at all. He looked to the Lifestream in support, only to see it recoiling away from the mass of black and wanting nothing to do with it at all.

Well, it can’t hurt to at least try, he figured, powering up a poison removal spell that he learned a couple worlds back. A bright bubble lit up the training room as Harry  _ tugged _ at the blackness. Beneath his hand, Genesis bit back a scream of pain as he felt his liquidated, dead, flesh detach from the living tissue. The metal rod in his hands bent completely.

Bit by bit, the blackness drained into the white bubble, tainting it tar. It wasn’t normal, Harry thought, as he fought hard to keep the tissue tendrils from latching onto  _ him _ . Here, the Lifestream screamed louder, and he could hear his own heartbeat drowning out any other noise. He could see a bit of red mixed with black, from where Genesis’ blood bled into the blackness. He wasn’t sure how much time passed, but he knew that it was vital that he extract every single contaminated cell. It didn’t matter if he had a mission in four hours- he’d go without sleep if he must, but this was far more important. His magical reserves will survive, exhaustion aside.

When the bubble drained dry, Harry sat down, out of breath and exhausted. This was no joke, whatever this was. He hastily screwed the bottle where he kept his tools, dumped it out, and poured in the blackness. He made extra sure to lock the bottle tight and seal it with his magic; he had a pet project for Aerith and him to work on.

He inspected the wound again (it’s to the bone, he thinks grimly) and heals it over with the strongest healing spell he knows. It took, he sighed with relief, as the skin healed back, inch by inch.

“I managed to heal part of it,” Harry said in between pants. Genesis got up immediately helped the Turk to a chair. The thin boy looked even worse than he did, if that was possible; if he was a kinder man, he’d be touched by the boy’s concern over his health, even to the point of neglecting his own.

“What did you do?” Genesis asked in wonder, moving his arms. He felt better than he had in  _ months _ , and his wound was no longer bleeding. It had even  _ healed  _ over, something he didn’t think was possible.

Harry shook his head. “I healed part of it, but I don’t think I got all of it. I need to... consult a friend about this. Minerva, Genesis. What did you  _ do _ to yourself?” He asked, baffled at what could have befallen the older man.

The commander pressed his lips thin. “Nothing- I had a spar and took a wound to the shoulder… nothing that shouldn’t heal over. The Doctor said that it would be fine in a couple of days, but…” Clearly, it did not get any better.

Harry stood up, and the world spun around him. Nevermind, he thought sheepishly, and sat back down with an oomph. “Which doctor are you talking about? Actually, they’re both as bad as each other. It doesn’t matter who. Doctors creepy one and two.”

Genesis chortled. “Hollander. I’d like to think he’s a sliver better than Hojo, given what Sephiroth has to say of the man.”

Harry made a face. He wouldn’t want to even  _ see  _ Hojo, let alone be in contact with him. He didn’t trust himself not to flambe the disgusting man on sight. “Veld makes sure that I’m always out in the field,” Harry confessed. “I never have to see the doctors- either of them.”

And why is  _ Veld _ so keen to help Harry dodge the creepy science men both? Genesis couldn’t help but wonder. Curiouser and curiouser. How odd that Harry was able to manage his wound when even Hollander couldn’t.

“What are you?” He asked blatantly. He’s well within reason to demand answers. Harry hesitated before leaning forward, one hand on the man’s back to keep his balance. He tilted his head to the side and whispered quietly in his ear,

“I’m Cetra, an Ancient,” he lied. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought with a resigned sigh. He couldn’t very well say that he was a dimensional traveler (not unless he’s asking to be tossed into the nearest loony bin), and he’s sure that the Planet would very gladly make him a Cetra if he only gave his consent.

“Minerva,” Genesis breathed in reverence. This explains  _ so much _ \- his magic, his ability to heal, why he won’t go near the science department, why  _ Veld _ was doing so much to protect him. He didn’t think there were any left; surely Hollander would give his right arm to be able to even get a specimen from the Turk.

Harry nodded grimly. “That’s why I can’t be in SOLDIER. But this isn’t the place to discuss this,” he said, knowing precisely how many cameras are in the (new) training room. “And I have a mission to get to… in a little over two hours.”

Genesis wanted to know more- he did, but he too, had a mission to get to (one that he felt more confident in, now that he had most of his strength back). Instead, he felt a twinge of concern for the Turk. Two hours was hardly enough to recover from such magical exertion.

“I have a mission too- to Wutai,” he murmured, subdued for once. He fingered the lock of hair again; it was auburn now, to his astonishment.

“That’s the one you’ve always wanted, right?” Harry said, remembering the man’s many rants about wanting to be a hero. He got up and dusted himself off; he felt a little more human now that the Lifestream was calmer. By the gods, trying to shut up a stream of long dead spirits was  _ tiring _ . He can’t see how Aerith handles the lot every day. The girl has the patience of a saint, he thinks.

“The very one,” Genesis replied, also picking up his sword. “We’ll continue this discussion when we get back,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

Harry also nodded. He  _ thinks _ the pieces are all starting to fall together. He hesitated, thinking if he should tell Genesis of his origins. “Genesis- I found some information about you and the other two generals. You need to know this- all three of you. It’s not… nice, but I don’t want you heading into the war knowing about this. It wouldn’t do you any good but distract you in the battlefield. I’ll need to ask for some help about whatever I just pulled from you, but I didn’t manage to get all of it… Whatever it was, it’s affecting your bones. It’s still there… just less. There was a lump there, and I’m not quite sure what it is. It’ll only get worse if I don’t figure this out,” Harry said, grasping the man’s arm. And boy was it an arm to grasp; he could barely hold half of it- stupidly mako-enhanced muscles.

Harry hastily withdrew a card from his suit pocket and scribbled a number on there and tossed it to Genesis. He caught it from the air with a flourish. “It’s my card,” Harry said in answer to his querying gaze. “The number I wrote on there is my personal PHS. I can’t guarantee yours isn’t bugged, but mine definitely isn’t. If something goes wrong… find me,” he said.

“My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the gift of the Goddess. You have my thanks,” he quoted and left in a flourish.

Harry made a face at the prophecy and left it at that. He had a gelatinous blob of cosmic origin to investigate and a 4AM mission to wake up for.

* * *

**XXIX.**

If Cissnei wondered why he was dead tired, suit burnt in parts and limping on his right side, she didn’t mention it. Even if she did mention it, Harry wouldn’t quite know what to say. The only explanation he gave when Reno brought it up was, “Genesis.”

And that’s really the only explanation he needs to give.

“So not a chick runnin’ you ragged, yo?” Reno snickered and tapped Harry’s shoulder with his electro-rod. With a snarl, Harry took a page out of his mentor’s book and made Reno eat fireballs. He squealed and ran.

“I dare you call him that to his face,” Harry retorted. And he would too, that Reno.

* * *

**XXX.**

The mission went without a hitch, though the mission’s very existence was an omen for more to come. It was a bad idea to go on this mission, Harry thought, his arm cradled in a sling from where he broke it in three places. With back to back missions to exterminate the Ravens, AVALANCHE on the rise, and the SOLDIERs called away on their Wutai War, the Turks were being run ragged. Even Harry himself had been taking back to back missions for the past week. The lack of sleep was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back; even with a curaga, he’s going to be off the active mission roster for some time. While Cissnei, Rude, and Reno were more than competent to handle the mission on their own, Tseng himself sat Harry down for a long talk when they got back. He lectured sternly, that under no uncertain circumstances will Harry work himself to the bone and become a liability to the team. Then, he promptly slapped on a month’s worth of paid leave and kicked the junior Turk out of his office.

Well, if he insists, Harry shrugged. He made his way down the elevators and out the front entrance of ShinRa; he had a shop to check on and a flower girl to find.

The church was the same as ever, Harry thought. How long has it been since he last visited Aerith? Two months? Three? Privately, he admitted to missing Luna’s reincarnation (weird as she is).

“Aerith,” he said, waving his cast and smiling. “Care to help me out a bit? And I’m not talking about the arm. I’ve already curaga-ed it more times than I can count.”

The girl stood, hands on her hips and tsked at her distant cousin. “What have I told you about being careful on your missions?” She scolded. “Don’t think I didn’t feel what you did the other day, Mister. The Lifestream was screaming something fierce. Now come over here and tell me everything.” A flash of red and a snicker.

Well, looks like Reno’s on guard duty today, Harry sulked. Reluctantly, he made his way over to the flowers.

* * *

**XXXI.**

“So this came from Genesis’ wound?” Aerith asked, tilting the bottle of black goo back and forth. It made no more undue movement, but Harry was still reluctant to take off his spells. He didn’t mind Reno’s presence; the man was a fool, but he knew how to keep his secrets when he needed to.

“It was almost latching onto his shoulder,” Harry frowned. “Whatever this is, my spells came back reading a cancer, an infection, and a degeneration. I used a poison removing trick to try to pull out as much of it as I could, but it’s all over his body, whatever this is.”

“And then you drained your magic healing him and went on a dangerous mission anyways and broke your arm in three places,” Aerith said sharply, still miffed and worried about Harry. He shrunk in on himself.

“Can we focus back on Genesis here?” Harry complained, turning Aerith’s interest back to the topic at hand. “I can’t help him much; I’m a black mage. I can manage a healing spell, but a healing this extensive is beyond me. Can you try to do something about it?”

“He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?” Aerith mused.

Harry nodded, unashamed to admit that over the years since he came to ShinRa, he became friends with the acerbic commander- one of his few friends, in fact. “You need to be careful with this, Aerith. It’s tainted with the Calamity,” he cautioned.

Aerith’s hands trembled a bit, but she held the bottle up nonetheless. “This is what caused the Lifestream to cry?”

“It is,” Harry confirmed. “I couldn’t eradicate it, but I extracted most of it from his body. It should slow down this process, whatever it is. I don’t know the history of the Cetra well enough to figure out a cure for this. Is this the same as the Black Plague of the old? The one that killed our ancestors?”

Aerith closed her eyes and prayed, and green wisps of Lifestream rose to her call. They swirled around the bottle, prodding with little tendrils of light. Harry stood well away from her prayer circle, but the Lifestream stroked him on the cheek fondly in thanks nonetheless.

“Don’t thank me yet,” he sighed, carding a hand through his hair. That awful stress habit was probably genetic. “I still haven’t figured this out.”

“ _ You will, World Traveler. We have faith in you.” _ A gentle female voice said.  _ “Thank you for taking care of our daughter.” _

“She takes care of me just as well,” Harry said, waving his cast-less arm about. “When people don’t think the both of us have schizophrenia anyways.” The voice only giggled and flitted about some more before fading away entirely.

When Aerith opened her eyes, they were glowing a bright mako green; as green as any of the SOLDIERs. “This is,” she confirmed. “There may be a spell I can learn; the past Ancients used it to cleanse the ones tainted by the Plague. Mother and Father are both with me… They will help me find a cure to the degradation.”

“Thank you Aerith,” Harry said, feeling touched and grateful for once. Maybe solving this degradation is what he needed to do in this world.

“Of course; you’re family, Harry.” Aerith smiled. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. For a second, Harry saw Luna in the way her head tilted and the way she held her hands in her lap. Luna always said the same thing too. “Silly Harry, we’re family,” she would always say, a pencil in her hair and turnips hanging from her ears. His response was always the same.

“Of course- how could I forget?”

* * *

**XXXII.**

Harry recalled that Two Guns once remarked that when one gets called into Veld’s office, either something has gone very right, or something has gone very, very wrong. The joke re-emerged from his memories when he was summoned to the Boss’ office (his lair, as Harry calls it) one Tuesday afternoon. He received a short and to the point message on his PHS:

_ Materia: _

_ Meet at my office- 1400 sharp. _

_ Boss. _

He read the message and frowned; nothing has been happening as of late. He was once again back on the roster and working field missions like a dog. Nothing abnormal. Nothing out of the ordinary. What could Veld possibly need from him? Oh well, he’ll find out when he gets there, Harry mused, and made a mental note to cancel lunch plans with Cloud and Zack. Typing some more on his PHS, he accepted yet another field mission to depart at witching hour and shrugged off his jacket for a brief nap.

Fourteen-hundred came soon enough, and it found Harry knocking at Veld’s door, back ramrod straight and suit pressed.

“Come in,” came Veld’s voice, muffled through the walls and the door. Harry entered the office (and amusedly note that the piles of paper had grown even more to obscure the windows almost entirely.)

“You wanted to see me, Boss?” Harry asked, all professional and to the point. He noticed that this time, Tseng was standing at Veld’s back; no one’s particularly surprised- Tseng would make a good head Turk after Veld. No one else had the patience to deal with this much paper.

“Yes,” he said and retrieved a folder in the middle of the stack. The paper tower wobbled unsteadily before stabilizing (to Harry’s disappointment). He tossed the file at Harry, who caught it midair. He didn’t open it though; one didn’t do anything in Veld’s office without his explicit command. The older man waved at Harry, gesturing him to go on and read the file.

“Sir, what exactly am I looking at?” Harry asked, feeling sick to the stomach. Stamped on top of Genesis’ staff picture- at the first page of his file- were the blaring scarlet words AWOL. This can’t possibly be right. Genesis would never do something like this, for all he always joked about it- he wouldn’t. Disbelief echoed through him.

“Exactly what it says on the file, Agent,” Veld sighed, looking every bit his age. “I presume you didn’t know?”

“No, not at all, Sir,” Harry answered. He can’t bear looking at those four letters anymore, and he shut the file with a snap. “The last I heard from Genesis, he was being deployed to Wutai. We haven’t been in contact since.” He was sure Veld knew how many missions he took on a day to basis; after all, the man signed them off himself. He didn’t really have time for anything else, let alone social niceties.

“What is your assessment of Genesis, Materia?” Veld asked. Harry privately thought that he’d be lucky if he only got out with twenty questions. This is serious business.

“He’s an excellent commander and well versed in both strategy and tactics. He is also an excellent swordsman and mage, capable of combining them efficiently. As one of the enhanced, he is very dangerous and not to be approached lightly even in teams. He has a short temper and favors fire and summoning spells. He wields a rapier which can conduct magic, and he is fond of dramatics. He… enjoys Banora White apples, has good taste in literature, and he’s my good friend, Sir. I wouldn’t hesitate to vouch for him normally… I trust that he would not do something like this without a very good reason.” Harry didn’t bother hiding the last part. To a certain degree, he felt hurt by the sudden news.

“What do you know of Genesis’ origins?” Veld asked after a moment of intense scrutiny. Harry didn’t shift or look away. He meant exactly what he said. Harry’s friendship with the commander was well known within the department. Behind him, Tseng’s expression remained stony.

Harry frowned, wondering exactly how much he should disclose. “I haven’t asked, Sir, but from what he has told me, he grew up in Banora as the son of the mayor with Commander Hewley. The two are childhood friends, and Genesis isn’t particularly close with his parents. He said that he wanted to be a hero after reading Loveless one day (typical of the man, Harry privately thought at the time).”

Veld hm’ed. It was all public knowledge really. As if Harry would admit to hacking into the Science Department’s files. “What if I told you that he was a part of a project headed by Professor Hollander many years ago, on the genetic alterations that led to the creation of SOLDIERs?”

“Human experimentation, Sir?” Harry asked drily. Veld nodded. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?” he nodded again.

“It doesn’t surprise me one goddamn bit that Drs. Creeptastic one and two dabbled in human experimentation. I’m well aware of the consequences I face if I ever catch their attention. I’m only surprised that they haven’t tried it on themselves.” Harry deadpanned. Behind Veld, Tseng’s lips twitched up ever so slightly. Veld didn’t even bother hiding his chuckle.

“Nonetheless, we believe that his defection is related to the experiment once done on him. Besides going AWOL, he also took with him a whole platoon of men and Dr. Hollander, whom we’re not sure whether he left willingly or not. A week later, reports of SOLDIER clones bearing Genesis’ face and fighting style came from operatives in Wutai. They were attacking our Turk operatives and lower classed thirds. What do you make of this?” Veld interrogated.

Harry paled. That idiot! He can’t possibly return to the company like this! And even when  _ he told that man he’s working on a cure! _ Harry gritted his teeth. He’s going to have  _ words _ with Genesis when he sees him next. “Sir, I honestly do not know what to say,” Harry admitted. “I had a spar with him just before he departed from Wutai, Sir. He was uncharacteristically slow and tired, and his movements were sloppy. He told me that he had a wound on his shoulder, and even I could not heal it completely,” Harry shook his head.

At this, Veld raised his eyebrows. There was hardly anything their resident Cetra can’t cure, bodily injury wise.

Harry crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “It was bad, Sir. The wound was oozing black blood and mako. It read as a great many things, and I tried to remove as much of the dead tissue as I can, but it has probably spread beyond to his blood and deep to his bones. It’s… very abnormal. It is almost like he was  _ degrading _ , yet the degradation process was actively invading other parts of his body- it even reached for  _ me _ , while I was trying to extract it. It was almost as if it had a mind of its own. I managed to get most of it out and close the wound over, but I’m sure I haven’t completely cured it… I didn’t have the reserve for it, and I already drained most of it healing him.”

“That would be the day you ran out of MP and ended up breaking your arm?” Veld asked, ever the concerned mother chocobo parent for the Turks. A mother chocobo who can kill you six times to Sunday before you even get to say “uncle”, that is.

“Yes sir,” Harry said unrepentantly. “I don’t regret breaking my arm- Aerith took care of that easily enough.”

“Does she know of Genesis’ injury?” Veld doggedly asked.

“She does,” Harry replied easily. “Even if I am a Cetra, I’m a black mage, Sir. The Lifestream was reacting very intensely to whatever that degradation is, so I took it to Aerith to analyze. She’s by far more competent than I am in healing magic since she’s a white mage, and she knows more about the history of the Cetra. She contacted some people from… beyond. She’s working on a cure as we’re speaking. That’s all I know so far, Sir. I didn’t know that it got this bad. He never said anything about it until now.”

If Veld was disturbed by the talk of the dead, he didn’t particularly show it. “Alright, Harry,” Veld said after a moment’s more of staring. “I’ll let you know if anything changes. You’re dismissed.” Harry visibly hesitated to leave.

“Yes…?” Veld inquired when Harry didn’t move.

“Sir, if I may have a request… if there are any missions to investigate this case-“ Harry began.

“You’ll be the first to know,” Veld said with a smile. Harry hid a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t mind working overtime on top of overtime if he could knock some sense into Genesis’ head. He was glad that Veld knew how to win his own people over. Chances are, regardless if he’s emotionally compromised or not, he’d be the best Turk to send on any mission with the risk of confronting Genesis. After all, he knew the man’s fighting style inside out.

“Oh, and take a week’s paid leave, Materia. Take the time to clear your head.” Really, it was as if Veld was  _ asking _ him to hack into the Science Department.


	4. Act IV

**XXXIII.**

Rather than hack into the Science Department like Veld expects him to (which he has already done way ahead of time), he spent the week off around Midgar, helping Aerith with her flowers and catching up with his friends. Over a Thursday dinner, the topic that was on everyone’s mind finally came up:

“Harry, about Genesis… Did Veld-?” Zack asked, hesitant and not sure how to proceed. Cloud looked down, his bright blue eyes dimmed with grief.

Harry nodded grimly. “I trust that the General also told you of the news?” Besides just Cloud, Zack himself looked under the weather. Dark circles around his eyes highlighted the mako glow, and his face had a gauntness to it that told of sleepless nights. Even his hair drooped, much to Harry’s amusement. Everyone at the table was more subdued than usual, slapped by reality into dreaded silence.

“It’s not just Genesis, Harry. It’s Angeal too,” Zack looked away, fists clenched tight under the tables.

While Harry has never met the commander, he knows that Zack looks up to him very much. More often than not, Zack would complain about how Angeal’s pride and honor made him lug around a giant buster sword for no particular reason at all. From Genesis, Harry knew that the man was stoic, stern, and a mother hen of the biggest proportions.

“Zack, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Harry murmured. There was an unanswered question in Zack’s gaze. “You know I’d tell you if I know anything. Veld only told me the news last week; I’ve been kept busy with field work missions.”

Intentionally so, maybe, Harry wondered. “Veld said he’d let me know immediately if any missions involving Genesis came up.” Immediately, Zack perked up.

“Thanks, Harry,” he said, rubbing Harry’s hair like he used to do when the Turk was a cadet. Still, despite the cheerful appearance, Harry could tell that Zack was seriously shaken by what happened. He could empathize; after all, Genesis too, was his mentor and friend. It was odd, no longer spying the flash of crimson and immediately ducking around a corner to escape an impromptu spar or to be dragged to whatever version of Loveless was showing on Loveless avenue that particular week.

“I know, Zack,” Harry replied. Those three words said everything he wanted to say, and perhaps a lot more that he didn’t. He was sure the Second Class SOLDIER understood the message, whatever his interpretation of it was.

“Cloud?” Harry asked, turning his attention to the taciturn blond… who was somehow almost completely silent tonight. “Is something wrong?” Harry’s sharp eyes picked up the faintest tremors around Cloud’s hands. His mako blue eyes glowed… and then dimmed some… and then glowed some more. He was no expert in mako sciences, but even he could tell that it wasn’t normal. Oddly, the Lifestream wasn’t  _ opposed _ to it at all, unlike how it was in reaction to Genesis’ degradation. It cooed around the blond, hovering and pooling around his feet; it was almost fond of him… the way it was fond of Harry.

“It’s nothing,” he stuttered. He dared not meet Harry’s eyes. Those green eyes looked almost identical to another pair of green eyes that haunts his dreams.

“No, there is something. I know you well enough by now. Tell me what’s wrong; is it some chick you picked up?” Harry teased half heartedly.

Cloud colored a bright scarlet shook his head vehemently. “No, nothing like that! I… I’ve been having dreams lately.”

“Dreams,  _ hm _ ?” Harry chuckled. “Those kinds of dreams?” To his side, Zack also laughed, though it was a hollow sound compared to his usual guffaw.

Cloud met Harry’s eyes only to glare at him. His gaze slid away a half second later. “No- they’re really odd, whatever they are.”

“Do share with the class, Spikey,” Zack prodded Cloud in the biceps, also concerned.

“There’s a girl (“so it  _ is _ those kinds of dreams, Harry concluded.” “No it’s  _ not _ , Harry,” Cloud snapped.) with bright green eyes- exactly like yours. She has long brown hair, and she was praying in a forest… And then the General stabbed her through the back, and I couldn’t stop it,” Cloud replied, tears near the corners of his eyes. “I couldn’t stop it,” he whispered.

Harry frowned. Now  _ why _ would Cloud be dreaming of Aerith when he hasn’t even met her yet? And why would the General be stabbing the last Ancient? This bears some investigating. “Well, Cloud, don’t pay it too much mind. They’re just dreams, right?” Right?

* * *

**XXXIV.**

He got the call from Veld at three AM in the morning, a couple weeks after. Harry yawned, his sheets pooling around him as he fumbled for both his glasses and his incessantly beeping phone.

“’lo?” He mumbled. 3AM. Three bloody AM. After he got back at midnight. There had better be a damn good explanation for this, he thought, annoyed.

“Materia, Genesis was spotted at 0100 today. Our operatives have confirmed his presence before contact was unexpectedly terminated.” Veld’s monotonous voice chased away all cobwebs in his brain. “Contact unexpectedly terminated” can only mean one thing.

“How many operatives?” Harry asked quietly. He had to ask- how many have Genesis killed? He wedged his PHS between his face and his shoulders as he searched his room for his suit jacket and his gloves. His shirt was wrinkled where he slept on it; he hastily tried to brush out the wrinkles and adjusted his collar.

“Three pairs,” was Veld’s quiet reply. Harry paused. Three pairs- six operatives lost because of this. Three pairs of valuable information gathering Turks who could have been spared for other things. Who could be living right now, walking into the shared staff room for a morning coffee.

When he got initiated into the Turks, he never expected that the Turks would be a family. In his experience as Unspeakable, they were a team; they had an objective, and they completed it. The end. People didn’t talk to each other outside of missions: the less they know and the less they talked, the longer they survived in the department.

But here, things were… different. Life was never quiet when Reno was around, and for all his strictness, Veld’s eyes were always kind when he addressed his operatives. He remembers Tseng sitting him down and telling him not to overwork himself- not even for a mission. He recalls Cissnei and Knife chatting in the lobby, Shotgun observing him curiously as he tinkers with his watches, Rude shuffling paperwork to and fro, always on his PHS one way or another.

He knows Turks operate in pairs, and he imagines all of them disappearing- he sees them vanishing two by two, never returning from a mission like this. He felt a cold pulse of anger run though him.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” Harry says quietly and swipes his materia from his bedside. It’s high time he knocks some sense into Genesis’ skull. He checks the time on his pocketwatch and snaps it shut. 0310.

“Good,” Veld says. “Meet at the SOLDIER mission office at 0330, Materia.”

* * *

**XXXV.**

Harry was there with five minutes to spare; being early is on time. Being on time is late- that is the mantra that he lives by (at least, that’s the one Tseng lives by).

“Turk Operative Materia, reporting for duty.” Harry says succinctly to the SOLDIER director. He received the mission file from Veld and skimmed through it quickly on his way there, but the SOLDIER side’s objectives would probably be different from his own.

“Good, you’re early,” Director Lazard paused in his typing and rose to shake his hand. Harry took the hand and gave it a firm shake; all the while, he was observing Lazard closely- the man did bear a striking resemblance to ShinRa the younger. It was an open secret within the company that Lazard was President ShinRa’s bastard son; he’s from the slums- found pickpocketing on the streets by a passing Turk with a keen eye. For an offspring of ShinRa, the man is surprisingly polite, Harry thinks. It’s no wonder both SOLDIERs and Turks hold fierce loyalty for their own. Their commanders easily inspire that kind of loyalty.

“SOLDIER Second Class Zackary Fair will be accompanying you on this mission. I trust that Veld has debriefed you separately?” Lazard asked.

Well, as much of a debrief as a 3 AM call can get, Harry thinks drily. “I have the mission parameters,” he says instead. “Zack will be accompanying me?” He raised an eyebrow, wondering if his friend will be able to drag  _ both _ Genesis and Angeal back- by force, if necessary. Not that he doubts his friend’s competence, but it would make more sense for the General to be sent on this mission instead.

“Good,” Lazard affirms again. At Harry’s query, he replied grudgingly, “the mission was originally sent to General Sephiroth, but he refused and delegated the mission to Zack instead.”

“Ah,” Harry replies. There isn’t much he can say to that; it just means that he’ll have to be all the more cautious on this mission and watch his back carefully.

“Any word on Angeal?” Zack rushed in, out of breath and with his uniform lopsided and slipping to the left. Despite the gravity of the situation, Harry’s lips twitched upwards. It’s just like Zack to rush in with his uniform not even put on properly.

“No; he hasn’t even contacted his family,” Lazard replied, his fingers steepled. He looked Zack over once, frowning slightly. Way to look not professional, Zack, Harry almost snickered.

“Then what’s this about?” Zack asked, still not quite noticing Harry’s presence at ass o’clock in the morning.

“I have an assignment for you,” Lazard said. “I want you to go Genesis’ hometown and investigate. His parents said they’ve had no contact with him whatsoever, but they can’t be trusted: they’re his family. I want you to go and investigate; we’ve sent some operatives, but they’ve lost contact. You won’t be going alone,” Lazard says, his gaze moving to where Harry was standing by the windows.

Zack followed that gaze- “Harry!” He jumps in surprise, and promptly gives his old cadet friend a bone crushing hug.

“Yo- it’s good to see you too, Zack,” Harry manages a weak chuckle and hugs back (though from Lazard’s perspective, it certainly looked more like Harry was trying to stop Zack from crushing his ribcage. Wisely, he held his tongue and waited for the Second Class to finish with his enthusiastic greetings.)

They gathered their equipment and made their way to the helicopter pad, where a helicopter was waiting for them; one look at the cockpit had Harry standing still, staring.

“Reno,” he shouted over the wind, surprised. Veld must be  _ really _ worried, to send Reno as his back up.

“Yo, wunderkid,” he smirked and gave him a cheeky salute. Harry scowled. Reno turned in his seat to give Zack a friendly clap on the back. “’Ey, Zack! Long time no see!” He grinned (probably trying to lighten up their mood, Harry thinks. He’s touched- Reno doesn’t wake up earlier than ten for anything less than an emergency, and it’s 0400 right now. He’ll have to buy him a drink later when he gets back.)

“To Banora?” The redhead asks. His assessing green gaze focuses on Harry’s reaction; out of all the field operatives, Reno is probably the one who does information gathering the best. As such, Harry didn’t even bother hiding his wariness from the other Turk. The whole department knows that he’s friends with the Commander, and now he’s gone AWOL and taken a whole platoon of men with him- and killed six Turks on his own. To pretend that nothing was wrong would be nothing short of an insult.

But the fact that Reno of all people was out here flying a helicopter at 4AM for Harry speaks worlds of their camaraderie… and how much Reno secretly worries after the Turks’ youngest operative.

“To Banora,” Harry says with a sigh. Merlin, what is that Genesis even thinking? He slams the seat belt in with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

* * *

**XXXVI.**

They’re welcomed in Banora by a gaggle of soldiers and a giant robot looming menacingly in the background.

“You wanna take care of the robot for me, Zack?” Harry asked, tugging on his gloves and powering up his fire materia. He assessed the robot- a couple of tri-thundagas will probably take care of it, but there’s something he wanted to confirm.

“My pleasure!” He says with a grin and dashed off; a well timed firaga from behind him kept the soldiers plenty busy.

“Now, let’s see what you’ve got,” Harry narrows his eyes and calls up Fawkes. From the mastered fire materia came his faithful companion. He screeched his triumph with a burst of fire and curled lovingly around Harry’s shoulders.

* * *

**XXXVII.**

It didn’t take much for them to handle their opponents. To an enhanced Second Class like Zack, a mere robot wouldn’t even be simulation training. For Harry, who was used to sparring with Genesis twice a week, the copies were sloppy at best.

Kneeling beside the smoking corpse of one of the burgundy clad soldiers, Harry gently removed the helmet. He had to pause to swallow the bile that was crawling its way up- before his eyes was Genesis, lying still and cold. No- not Genesis, but a  _ copy _ of him, down to his materia casting style.

“A Genesis copy,” Zack said, also kneeling down to inspect the corpse.

“Where’d you hear that? Did Sephiroth tell you?” Harry asked, brushing his hands across the eyelids of the soldier to close them. Beneath him, the Lifestream rose, screaming in disgust and indignation, refusing to accept the soul into eternal rest. Here, the force of the Lifestream was strong enough to give him a headache. He supposed he should be surprised that Genesis chose Banora as his home base, given how attached he was to his childhood hometown. Harry grimaced- wondering where the copy’s soul will go, now that the Lifestream has rejected it.

“Yeah,” Zack says, looking burdened and tired himself.

“It’s a technology developed by ShinRa,” Harry says with a grimace. He knew this well enough from his hacks down into the secrets of the Science Department. “It allows Genesis’ genetic information to be copied over to someone else, be they monster or SOLDIER… Angeal too, probably,” Harry said quietly and got up. The two commanders are cut from the same cloth, after all.

Abruptly, Harry turned to face Zack. His eyes were cold- Turk eyes, Zack thinks, serious and wary. This isn’t the Cadet Harry Potter he met in the hallways one day- this is Turk Operative Materia on a mission.

“We need to go check out the town,” Harry says plainly. “Three pairs of Turk operatives disappeared here… I owe it to them to find their bodies, at least.” he looked pained- his green eyes dark with grief- but furious nonetheless. “Try to see if you can find Angeal’s house, Zack.”

Harry watches as Zack dashes off once again down the hills. He makes sure that the SOLDIER is gone from hearing range before he kneels down and puts one hand on the dirt ground.

He took one deep breath after another, sinking- drifting- in his mind.  _ Please? _ He asks the Lifestream. He knows they’re not obligated to listen to him; he’s not Aerith. He’s not even an Ancient, and this has nothing to do with his supposed mission. But  _ he has to try _ . For their sake, he has to try. He feels a soft wind blowing around him; in his mindscape, streams of fluorescent green flow past him. The all-too-familiar voices sing in a cacophony- they approve. They’re fond of him, Harry gathers. From his mind, he sees strands separate out individually, and he opens his eyes. Before him stood specters- six semi-transparent ghosts fading at the edges. Small sparks of mako rose from them when they moved, dissipating in the wind.

“Can you tell me where you are? Veld told me to bring you home.” Harry says kindly. The six Turks nod, a couple ducking or looking away to subtly wipe tears. “It’s time to come home.” Harry says quietly and enters Reno’s number on his PHS. He’ll need the redhead to help move the bodies.

* * *

**XXXVIII.**

“Infinite in mystery is the Gift of the Goddess. We seek it thus and take to the skies; ripples form on the water’s surface. The wandering soul knows no rest.”

Guided by a familiar voice, Harry’s steps echo on the empty factory floor. They ring louder than his own heartbeat; beside him, Zack’s steps speak of impatience and frustration. He knew that in his own way, Zack was just as furious. His eyes blaze a bright mako blue.

“Genesis,” Harry says tightly. “It’s been a while.” He stops a healthy distance away to simply take a good look at his friend. It has barely been a month since he last saw the Commander, yet it feels like an eternity. So many things have happened, and he felt like he didn’t even know Genesis anymore.

Besides their own people, Genesis’ parents lie in that grave.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; he did read Hollander’s reports on Project G after all. But it speaks of Genesis’ mental instability- his uncontrolled bursts of impulsiveness- that he would do this to his own parents.

“Harry,” Genesis nods to him, “and Zack the Puppy.” Zack bristled at the nickname- something that Harry filed away in the back of his mind for later blackmail material. There is always a time for play; regretfully, that time is not now.

“You look well,” Harry says quietly. He didn’t even need to look at the mako tank next to him to know that it’s a copy. It would be kinder to drain the mako now, before the original’s mind gets wiped completely.

What he said was true- Genesis  _ did _ look well. He didn’t have a strand of white in his head of auburn; his shoulder looked to be more or less the same. He wasn’t tired or burdened like Harry expected him to be by now. But on closer inspection, there’s a glimmer of madness in his turquoise eyes that wasn’t present before, a look of cruelty that didn’t suit the Crimson Commander at all.

“Genesis- how could you- your parents,” Zack began, not quite sure where to start questioning his mentor’s best friend. Evidently, he decided to start on the death of Genesis’ parents.

That gave Genesis a pause. “My  _ parents _ have betrayed me from the very beginning!” he snarled, hand holding Rapier tight, leaving lines of tension in his leather gloves.

“They lied to us, you know,” Harry cuts in quietly, his words cool and collected. “They lied to us to protect  _ you _ . They said they never saw you.”

Genesis’ eyes narrowed. “Did you know?” He asks softly. His eyes glow a steady mako green. Behind him, the afternoon sun illuminated the factory boiler room; the light streamed in, almost forming a halo behind his hair. Zack shifts uneasily next to him, lost in the conversation. He dared a look, and his friend has once again been replaced with the Turk Operative Materia.

How ironic, Harry thought. “It depends on what you’re asking me about,” Harry replies, a blizzaga materia already held concealed in his hand.

“Did. You. Know?” Genesis repeats again, his voice tight with anger and impatience. Harry could feel the maelstrom of emotions around him, full of desperation and madness.

Harry takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for one split second. He couldn’t- won’t- lie. Not to his friend. Not about something like this. “Yes.”

With an explosive snarl, a white-hot fireball leaps from Genesis’ hands. Even from this close a distance, Harry easily calls up a blizzaga shield to block it, leaving a steaming chunk of ice. Genesis’ emotions fueled the firaga- his hurt and his anger burning the firaga much hotter than normal. Sloppy, Harry thinks. Powerful but sloppy.

“Harry!” Zack yelled, leaping to his friend’s defense. He drew his sword and rushed at Genesis, only to be stopped by Angeal.

“Commander Hewley,” Harry says quietly; this was one of the few times that he had seen the man in person, but his reputation precedes him. The commander merely glances at him and remains silent. His gaze slides away, and slowly, he points the sword towards Genesis.

“I see you’ve made your choice, Old Friend. I respect your decisions, but tell me- can you really live on that side?” he asks, his voice tight with emotion. He strides out quietly, his boots echoing on the factory floor.

* * *

**XXXIX.**

“I told you, you can’t live on that side anymore.” Genesis says, his eyes focused on Gillian’s corpse, lying on the floor. She slit her own throat, Harry realized. Despite Zack’s accusations, the angle Gillian fell was entirely wrong, and there aren’t any large wounds on her. Angeal snarls- with rage and grief in equal parts- and he turns away, fleeing the scene. As Zack attempts to follow his mentor, Genesis trips him, sending him sprawling.

Harry remained silent in the background, kneeling by Gillian’s cooling corpse. What else, he thinks, feeling his emotions detach ever-so-slightly. What else is ShinRa going to take from Genesis and Angeal? What else do they have to sacrifice- their sanity, their family, their lives… What else do they have left?

“My friend, do you fly away now? To a world that abhors you and I? All that awaits you is a somber morrow, no matter where the winds may lie,” Genesis intones as Angeal walks away from his mother.

“Go after Angeal, Zack. See if you can talk some sense into him.” Harry says quickly, pulling his friend up on his feet. “I’ll handle Genesis.” With a grateful look, Zack rushes off, shouting Angeal’s name all the way. It is a bit like a puppy, he supposed.

“Loveless Act III,” Harry says, catching Genesis’ attention. He’s no fool to go into this fight unarmed, and so he reluctantly draws his obsidian blades. He points them at the ground.

“You’ll  _ handle _ me, hm?” Genesis mocks, crossing his arms.

“You know who I am. You know I am working on a cure- why did you just go and do something like this?” Harry asked, cutting the chase.

“My friend, your desire is the bringer of life, the Gift of the Goddess,” Genesis quotes at him. “I’m degrading,” he admits, almost spitting out the last word. He stares at his own hands, and Harry notices that they’re shaking ever so slightly. “Hollander said there’s no cure.”

“And you would trust Hollander’s words over mine?” Harry asks incredulously. “He’s the same person who did this to you in the first place!”

“What  _ choice _ do  _ I _ have?” Genesis snaps back. He’s afraid- terrified. Harry realizes. He’s dying and afraid. “We’re  _ monsters _ !”

“I’m working on a cure!” Harry says through gritted teeth. Damn the stubbornness in this man, he thinks.

“It’s too late,” Genesis draws back on himself, shrinking away like Harry has never known him to do. “It’s too late for that, Harry.” His hands reach up, and with a flourish, a single charcoal wing stretches from his shoulder. “Do you see this, Harry? Do you see what I’ve become?” His voice was equal parts vitriol and grief. “I’m a monster… Tell me, what am I if not a monstrosity?” He looks to the skies, but it held no answers for him.

Goddess, Harry thinks as force of the Lifestream’s screaming drives him on his knees.  _ The Calamity! The Calamity!  _ The voices shriek.

So this is what drove Genesis to desert, Harry analyzes. The degradation- that parasite- was invading Genesis’ bones to create a wing; to physically manifest itself as an appendage. It must have happened not too long after Genesis landed in Wutai… the degradation was eating down into Genesis’ bones last time. It made Harry sick.

If anything, Genesis looks saddened by Harry’s reaction, as if his pain merely confirmed a hypothesis. “Don’t bother, Harry. It’s too late for us,” he says quietly. “If you know what’s good for you, leave ShinRa. Leave and never come back.” He holds up a very familiar pocket watch, and a pentacle unfolds in the air.

Of all times, Genesis has to test that pocketwatch now, Harry thinks with annoyance. No. Not this time.

Something in him snaps.

“No,” Harry stared Genesis straight in the eyes. Bahamut appears before him in all its terrible glory, and before the landscape could change, Harry’s magic lashed out. It sits thick in the air, saturating every bit. The oppressive force of centuries upon centuries of magic made Genesis stagger, and his eyes widened at the sheer amount of magic pouring off of the Turk. Harry ignores the dragon entirely and strides up to Genesis, his blades held in reverse grip.

“If you think that I’m going to give up and just leave you to roll over on your belly and die, you are sorely mistaken,” Harry said softly, one finger poking at Genesis’ chest. “You are no more monster than I; I’ve read your Goddess-damned files. Did you think that I wasn’t going to keep an eye on the Science Department? I know about Project G. I was  _ going _ to give you all the information when you got back, but you had to be an idiot and jump ship! I don’t care if you think you’re a monster- do you think you’re the only one who has killed? A wing doesn’t make you a monster any more than a leg makes me a man. I am going to cure you if it’s the last thing I do, goddammit, so you had better enjoy that wing while it lasts,” Harry hissed, his finger digging into Genesis’ turtleneck. He gazes up at Genesis with defiance in his eyes.

Genesis, for once, was stunned into silence by his friend’s audacity. His eyes- they’re glowing mako bright, he thinks with trepidation. To his knowledge, Harry wasn’t enhanced- not at all. Then, the moment of fear and rationality was over, replaced by the all too familiar tower of rage.

“You dare-“ he bared his teeth in a snarl; he swipes at Harry, who dodges the half-hearted attack easily with a backflip. Genesis pumped more MP into Bahamut, and the dragon roared triumphantly.

“Yes, I  _ dare _ ,” Harry retorts and turns to look at the dragon, his weapons not even raised in defense. “As for you- you know not to interfere with my mission. Cease and desist immediately. Obey your Goddess and leave before I force you from this plane,” he says sternly, unimpressed. He didn’t know if he could, but by the Goddess, he’d try. The dragon roars even louder, its wings stirring up dust storms, and before Genesis could berate Harry for his idiocy of talking down  _ Bahamut _ of all summons or cut off his MP flow to the summon (by Minerva, there’s still enough MP for at least one Mega Flare- that  _ idiot _ !), the dragon suddenly bows his proud neck fades into a shower of green. Surrounded by glowing green mako, the Turk looked ethereal. And in a sense, he is.

“You were saying?” Harry says smugly and adjusts his tie. Genesis watches, slack jawed as his summon meekly turns back to a glowing red materia embedded in a golden watch.

For the thousandth time, Genesis scowls down at his watch. Really, he should have learned his lesson from that time with Shiva. Reluctantly, he retreats post haste. Harry watches him depart with mixed emotions, wondering when he would see his friend next. Would he see him again?

* * *

**XL.**

“Back to Junon, Harry?” Cissnei said, not bothering to look away from her view of the setting sun.

“Back to guarding President ShinRa,” Harry said with a long sigh. He carded his hand through his hair and took a good long stretch. He popped a couple of joints and joined her. He leaned on the rails, his green eyes surveying the open view of the ocean.

“Well, you can’t go on SOLDIER chases every day,” Cissnei teased. “We can’t quite spare you for it.”

“I’m far too old for that,” Harry said with a chuckle. He stared out into the ocean and wondered where everyone was. For once, Genesis was free from ShinRa- what was he doing with his time? Was he taking care of himself? Harry had always thought that Genesis would become a complete geek about Loveless if he didn’t also want to be a hero. Maybe he’d be hopping from theater to theater, one Loveless adaptation to another, being the thespian that he is.

“You’re twenty two, Harry,” Cissnei said drily. He grinned at her; he wasn’t about to tell her that he’s in fact, much older than she gives him credit for.

“Well, I’m sure you’re not that much older, right?” Harry wheedled. Cissnei’s background was always a mystery. According to the systems, she was an orphan, picked up by ShinRa from the slums and raised from birth to be a Turk. Her birthday, age, and true name weren’t in the system. Somehow, Harry doubts that even she knew.

“Haven’t you learned by now that it’s rude to ask a lady her age?” She smirked. He barked a laugh.

“It’s worth a try,” Harry shrugged. There’s no harm in trying, after all- it’s how Turks play. It’s in their nature to wheedle information from each other, even if it’s just for fun.

They observed the setting sun for a while in silence, both lost in their own thoughts. After a while, Cissnei’s tone turned serious.

“With what’s happening to Genesis…” She hedged a question. She didn’t turn to face Harry, but he could spy her looking at him from the corner of her eyes.

Harry nodded, looking down at his own folded hands. What did he think about the whole thing? “It’s a mess” would be his instinctual reply. And it is a mess- it’s a mess in his mind; it’s a mess outside his mind. With the chaos raging around him (Wutai, Genesis, AVALANCHE…) the whole department was run ragged, and almost a third of the SOLDIERs are gone. The missing spots have been mysteriously filled, but with “SOLDIERs” that the Turks have never even heard of, let alone seen. It’s as shady as shady comes, even to people like the Turks.

Harry settles for a sigh. “It’s something, alright.” Above all, he wants to wring Genesis’ neck and knock some goddamn sense into that thick skull of his.

Cissnei hms, not quite satisfied with his noncommittal answer. Harry chuckles a bit; she should know better than to expect him to be straightforward, but he’ll throw her a bone this time.

“He’s dying, Cissnei,” Harry says casually, as if he wasn’t nearly as terrified for his friend as the commander was for himself. “He’s afraid, and he doesn’t even get the decency of a warrior’s death. Aerith and I are working on a cure, but…” He’s not saying anything that the Turks don’t already know; the actions of a dying man are often irrational, after all.

They both know people who have lived beyond their expiratory dates, and sometimes they’re the ones who do the prolonging. It’s not pretty, but it’s work.

“It’s a shame, isn’t it?” She sighs, turning her back to the sun. He wonders if she has ever fallen for the SOLDIER Firsts like the vast majority of ShinRa has- but then he quickly dismisses the thought. He has never known Cissnei to be any less than a professional (with maybe a dash of dry wit).

Harry takes out a grey feather from his suit pocket, one that he pocketed when Genesis fled from Banora. He turned it over with his fingers, over and over again. The whispers of the Calamity reach out for him, but he blocks out the small tendrils almost subconsciously.

“Genesis’?” Cissnei asks, staring at the feather curiously. It was almost long enough to be a quill, Harry thinks.

“Yeah- from the original one,” Harry adds grimly. He’s tired, he realizes. Life’s dragging him down, and with one upheaval over another, he’s tired. He looks at Cissnei and sees understanding in her eyes. Even if she has never known life outside of ShinRa, she has still managed to build herself a life within it, no matter how confined. “I don’t know where my friend ends and where the monster begins, Cissnei,” he confesses quietly. Is there even such a demarcation? Did such a demarcation exist in the first place?

“Wings symbolize freedom for those who have none. They don’t mean monsters,” Cissnei replies, shaking her head. Harry can read between the lines: they don’t need wings to be monsters: they’re are monstrous enough on their own. There exists a monster in every one of them- wolves in sheepskins, in the Turks especially. She’s no more different than any one of them, with more blood on their hands than they can care to count.

“Perhaps,” he allows, still turning the feather around. “You can tell him that,” he says, imagining the look of incredulous disbelief on Genesis’ face.

“Maybe I will- when he gets back,” Cissnei says, pushing off the rail and flipping her hair back. She strides back to her work as usual, adjusting her gloves and checking her shuriken.

Harry blinks at the unexpected response. “When he gets back, hm?”

He smiles and jogs a bit to join her.

* * *

**XLI.**

The issue of the unknown enhanced SOLDIERs never leaves Harry’s mind. The enhanced do not simply pop up somewhere, and unlike Ancients, they do not simply grow on trees (as Tseng erroneously presumed once). Someone, somewhere has to be the one to do the enhancing… and seeing how Dr. Creepy the Lesser has officially defected, the only one who can do the enhancement is Professor Hojo. Undoubtedly, he knows better than to confront the madman; it’s not the Turk style, nor would it lead to any substantial information. No… to get his information, the only person he can go to is the one who knows SOLDIER better than the rest: General Sephiroth.

Thus, Harry found himself standing in front of the General’s door, on a floor that is far too quiet now that Genesis and Angeal have disappeared. The lights have dimmed- a power saving measure from a miserly corporation (of course, public relations have a different tale to tell). It’s eerie, like something vital is missing.

He could see the char marks on the wall nearby, with a half melted door handle bent vaguely out of shape. Genesis’ office, Harry reminisced, is where paperwork goes to die. It always smelled of smoke and ashes and cheap melted paint, but now, the smell was gone. Somehow, the cleanliness seemed out of place; mechanical and far too dull.

Harry shakes his head and raps firmly on the door.

“Come in,” was the reply, and Harry enters with a stack of evidence held tightly in his hands.

“General Sephiroth,” Harry inclined his head. The man is physically imposing; far more than even Genesis and Angeal. He knows, from the files he hacked into, that the general has far more mako running through his veins than most.

Almost immediately, the Lifestream rose around him, arching up protectively in his mind.

Son of the Calamity, they whisper fearfully. The Son of the Calamity has come. The voices die down until they are a mere thread in Harry’s consciousness, though Harry pulls his Occlumency walls close to where the Lifestream huddles- almost fearfully.

No son of anything is going to get through these shields, Harry tells the voices dryly. He’s had a couple sons of a bitches try. Key word: try.

“Would you mind?” Harry gestured vaguely at the corners of his office.

Mako green eyes looked on curiously. “Of course,” the man murmurs, his voice a deep baritone. Shrugging, Harry slipped a confuse materia into his hands and drew out a concealing spell. A transparent dome formed around the two, shimmering with a pearly sheen.

At the general’s silent enquiry, Harry continued. “It’s just a low level variant of the Confuse spell; any bugs in the office will simply record a mundane conversation on the latest SOLDIER-Turk combined mission.”

“How fascinating,” Sephiroth noted academically. He paused for a while, adding, “Genesis was right about your magical talents.”

“He mentioned me?” Harry asked, blinking in surprise. “I guess then he also mentioned how I failed SOLDIER on purpose.”

Sephiroth chuckled quietly. “Yes, I heard the fire alarms.”

“Ah, the office then?” Harry grimaced. “I counted my lucky stars when he didn’t toss fireballs at me.”

“How kind of him not to,” Sephiroth replied, almost snorting.

“It’s very uncharacteristic of him,” Harry agreed, chuckling slightly. Memories or not, work comes before pleasure- that he knew. He stepped up to Sephiroth’s paperwork ridden desk and placed his file precariously on the top of a particular stack occupying the center of the desk.

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow and plucked the folder back down easily.

“Veld’s desk is in much the same state as yours, Sir,” Harry shrugged, grinning lazily. He’s hanging out with Reno too much- to be picking up his habits like that. "If you wanted something read, you'd most probably put it where it has the least risk of toppling over."

Sephiroth inclined his head. Was that the edge of a smile he saw? Perhaps, Harry pondered.

After a couple of minutes, Sephiroth spoke. "These enhanced personnel..." he trailed off as he flipped through blurry images of outdated warehouse security cameras.

"I can't find any trace of them, Sir," Harry said seriously. "Veld has never seen nor heard of any of them, and none of them exist in the ShinRa database. The only result we found was a minor missing persons report from a small town in the Western Continent, for a nine year old child called Shelke Rui... who bears striking resemblance to the unknown enhanced personnel seen in one of the Junon missions."

Sephiroth flipped back to the mentioned report. He paused- "It's from eight years ago," his tone was nearly flat, but for someone trained to read body language like Harry, he could tell that the General was surprised.

"Either it's the wrong person... or she has not aged from that day," Harry said grimly. "Given that this is a case of sensitive nature, we have decided not to contact her sister, a Shalua Rui, until the girl's identity has been confirmed."

"You have done quite a bit of investigation into the matter," Sephiroth concluded after flipping through the last page in the file. His mako green eyes are piercing as they met Harry's equally bright-but-unehanced eyes. "I'm under the impression that the Department of Administrative Research is... understaffed."

Yeah, no thanks to Genesis and AVALANCHE, Harry thought with a bit of annoyance. He didn't fidget, but it was a near thing. "We are," he admitted. "But all unknown personnel, especially enhanced ones, are of particular interest to us." He paused, then decided- in for a penny, in for a pound. "There have been multiple reports of them harming non-enhanced personnel on missions; mostly troopers, but our people have flagged a number of them for mental instability as well." He didn't quite say directly that they were a risk on a mission- almost as bad as strapping a self detonating bomb on yourself- but they are. He's been on a mission with one before (a redheaded woman who bore striking similarity to Genesis), and he can attest to their mental instability... and that they're walking bomb threats.

"I see," Sephiroth says neutrally.

"I was hoping that you'd have some insight on the matter," Harry said professionally. Well, he would much rather try to ask Sephiroth about the matter than Palmer, or worse yet, Hojo.

"I'm afraid I have not heard of the matter until now," the General says finally. "I believe that you would have the best chance of finding leads in... a different department, but I will look into the matter myself."

At some point, Harry mentally tacked on, eyeing the overwhelming towers of paperwork crowding Sephiroth's desk.

Sephiroth's lips twitched, successfully guessing Harry's thoughts.

"It may take some time," he allowed.

Harry shrugged, ignoring the still terrified whispers of the Lifestream. He knows exactly which department’s door he’d have to knock on for answers, but he’s not stupid enough to go there himself. Anyone short of Sephiroth was probably disposable to the company. Harry frowned. Maybe even he wouldn’t be spared; after all, he thought that all three of the commanders were indispensable, and look where they were now.

"You could always set the paperwork on fire. That's what Genesis always did."

"Yes, and that would be when the secretaries deign to redistribute the extra copies to Angeal and I," Sephiroth said dryly. Abruptly, he fell silent. Only now, there wasn't anyone else to send the extra work to.

Harry too, became morose. Suddenly, the silence seemed vast- empty. This entire floor was too empty. There were no flashes of red from Genesis' coat or from his fire. There were no spots of green; Angeal's miniature potted plants have long since wilted to a dull brown in the man's absence.

Harry made up his mind and pulled himself back together. "It's only a temporary situation, I assure you," he said with five percent confidence and ninety five percent pure stubbornness.

Sephiroth raised one silver eyebrow at the diminutive Turk.

"You only need to put up with this long enough until I drag Genesis' sorry ass back, sit him down in that chair, and make him sign through all the flame resistant paperwork that have gathered in his absence," Harry said, still ticked off at Genesis.

"Is that so?" Sephiroth asked, surprised by the odd Turk's optimism.

"It's only fitting; it's the least he can do for causing all this trouble for us," Harry said with a sure nod.

Sephiroth chuckled. "I assume your fire proofing spells up to par. You might just spawn a couple new materia with that plan of yours."

“Oh, don’t worry, they’re seeing plenty of use these days,” Harry replied with a chuckle. “If you’d like more materia, I’ve got plenty to spare.”


	5. Act V

**XLII.**

Despite his busy schedule, Harry keeps up his visits to Aerith. It’s a Sunday today, Harry thinks. He’s long since lost track of the days of the week (not that they matter much in his line of work), but it seems only appropriate to go to the church on Sunday. He made a conscious decision to leave the suit back in headquarters. He’s not without his weapons, of course, but they’re hidden beneath his dress shirt and pants. He knows well enough not to visit the slums without at least a couple of knives. He kicks over a couple cans as he makes his way to sector five. He dodges three pickpockets on his way; they’re not worth the effort to confront when all they’ll do is run.

“Aerith,” Harry says pleasantly. He finds the flower girl kneeling on the flower bed, tending to the yellow and white blossoms there.

“Harry! You’re early,” Aerith says, getting up and dusting her skirt off.

“Veld gave me a couple of extra days off,” Harry shrugged. “I didn’t complain.” Scary as their boss was, he takes care of his own people. He’s been busy chasing cold trails on the Genesis case for so long that he doesn’t really even know what to do with days off.

“Come help me with the flowers then,” she says with a smile.

Well, who was he to say no to sweet Aerith? And so, Harry rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He nods to Gun and her partner, Rod, who was on guard duty today. Rod gives him a lazy wave back, while Gun only nodded curtly.

In the midst of their gardening, they catch up on what has been happening in their respective lives; there’s quite a lot to say either way.

“You won’t believe the amount of paperwork on Veld’s desk nowadays,” Harry joked, shaking his head. “I swear, they’re multiplying and planning mutiny on the whole department.”

“And that’s when you’ll pull a Genesis and torch them all?” Aerith giggled.

“Well, I suppose if Boss asks me nicely…” Harry chuckled while pulling a weed plant up by the roots. “Really, Sephiroth’s desk isn’t much better. I told him I’ll drag Genesis back and make him do all the paperwork he generated with this mess. I’m sure we can find him- all we have to do is stalk Loveless Avenue.”

Aerith hesitated, folding her hands on her lap.

“Aerith?” Harry asked quietly, his heart sinking.

“The cure… I don’t think I can make it on time, Harry,” Aerith said quietly. “I’m sorry; I can’t- I don’t understand- I don’t know how to…” She looked- glared- down at her own hands as if willing herself to turn into a full Cetra. Maybe, if she was a full-blooded Ancient and not a half-blood, she wouldn’t have this problem.

“Oh.” There wasn’t much he could say to that. An uneasy silence descended over the church.

He’s fresh out of tears- all cried out from centuries of strife, but he feels a lump rise in his throat, choking off all words. He wouldn’t know what to say anyways; the future that he envisioned… the resolution to the dilemma he was brought here to solve- it cracks and fractures into a million pieces. And what is he to do now? Forget the world, he thinks angrily. He wants to save his friend; Genesis has an expiratory date. The world doesn’t. And when will the world learn to save itself anyways? He’s tired- has always been, probably will always be, tired.

He wasn’t sure what Aerith read on his face (or maybe she’s cheating and reading his aura or something, Harry thinks), but she reaches a hesitant hand out to her brethren. “Harry, I’m sorry,” she says, honesty coloring her voice.

He opened his mouth to say something- he wasn’t sure what- when suddenly, he heard a distant crash above them.

Above them? He wondered. He had but a split second, but he sprang into action; “Get down, Aerith!” He shouted and leapt at her. He pushed her down behind him and covered her with his own body. It seems that even when he takes a break from work, work elects to find him. Harry sighed.

Half a second later, a black mass crashed through the rafters of the church and landed on the flower bed. Whoever- or whatever- that is, he’s lucky that he landed on the soft soil, Harry thinks, still crouching protectively over the last Ancient. There was silence; even the Lifestream was silent.

“Harry,” Gun jumps down from the beams around the church. Rod too, jogs over.

“Watch over Aerith for a bit, will you?” He murmured and slotted a firaga into his materia bracer. Absently, he unhooked the hidden knives attached to his boots. Gun thought for a moment and did so, unlocking the safety on her gun all the same.

Harry approached the unknown assailant cautiously, yet the lump lying on the ground appears almost… familiar. He nudged it with the tip of his boot, only to get a very familiar muffled groan of “Mom…?” in return. Of course. Zack, Harry thought with a sigh. Only Zack would have something like this happen to him. What in Merlin’s name was this guy doing to crash through the Plate? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“Ease up, guys,” Harry called out to Rod and Gun. “It’s just Zack.” He made a face at that.

“Second Class Lieutenant Zack Fair?” Rod asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Yeah,” Harry said in affirmation. “I’m not sure what he’s doing above plate to come crashing straight down, but the guy must be really out of it to mistake me for his mom.” He chortled.

The pair of Turks looked at each other and reached a silent decision to go back to their hidden places by the rafters before the SOLDIER wakes up.

It’s the right decision, Harry thinks. Only, that leaves him to deal with the knocked out Second Class. He sighed and picked up a crowbar to pry off more floor boards. It’s going to take a while for him to wake up.

“Hello-oo” Aerith called, cupping one hand to amplify her voice.

“Don’t bother, Aerith. It’s just Zack,” Harry said. “A tap like that isn’t enough to dent that hard head of his.”

“The same Zack you’ve been telling me about?” She asked, looking at the downed man skeptically.

“The very one,” Harry nodded in affirmative. And what a first impression to make, Harry thought with a snort. He focuses on his work, and all in all, it takes about half a dozen “Helloo-oo’s” to wake Zack up.

“… Mom…?” Zack said, his eyes not quite focusing right. Harry dropped the crowbar and ran over.

“Heaven…?” He asked. Wow, this guy is really out of it, to call the slums heaven of all things, Harry covered a laugh with a small cough.

“An Angel…?” Zack asked, his eyes focusing on Aerith at last. Well, Harry won’t argue with that part, at least.

“No, I’m Aerith, and this is a church in the slums,” Aerith says happily.

“Honestly, Zack, I don’t even want to know what you’re on to think that I’m your mom,” Harry joked.

“Harry…?” Zack asked bearily, turning his head to the Turk… who curiously enough, was out of uniform. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s my day off,” he shrugged. “I’mma slums kid comin’ home to the slums,” he said, laying on his slums accent thick like Reno. To his side, Aerith elbowed him in the ribs. He only snickered, babying his ribs where her sharp elbows dug in.

“You fell from the sky; you scared me,” Aerith says, pointing to the gaping hole at the roof of the church. Well, at least the flowers will have more sun now, Harry thinks, looking up at the Zack-sized hole in the rafters. He thinks he sees Gun discretely snapping a picture with her PHS.

“So you saved me?” Zack asked, sitting up.

“Not really,” Aerith shrugged. “Hello-oo, that’s all I did,” she said, demonstrating.

“That depends on your definition of save,” Harry helpfully supplied. He pointed to glowing firaga still slotted into his bracer. “If you were anyone else, you’d be barbecue by now.” As a rule of thumb, it’s never a good idea to startle a Turk.

Zack laughed a bit nervously at Harry, but it was obvious to all involved that he was charmed by Aerith. It’s hard not to be. He got up, surprising the Ancient with his dexterity.

“Thank you so much, Aerith. I’m Zack. I have to repay you somehow…” he hedged.

“No, it’s no problem,” she shook her head. At the same time, Harry deadpanned. “You can foot the bill for the next dinner get together we do. You know, if you think I’ve been neglecting you, you really didn’t have to crash through a roof to tell me that.”

“I know!” Zack said, pretending to have an Eureka moment. “How about one date?” He asked with a grin and a wink.

Harry laughed. Long and hard. By Minerva, he really hoped that Gun was catching all this on camera.

“What is that? Don’t be silly,” Aerith turned away, blushing.

* * *

**XLIII.**

Harry bid the new couple a happy goodbye as he left them to their “date”; he was still chuckling away when he left. Zack’s pick up lines could really use some work, he thought, laughing his way through Wall Market and to his watch shop. With Zack there, he wasn’t worried about Aerith’s safety. Nothing short of an apocalypse will pose much of a challenge to a SOLDIER like Zack under the plate, and if by chance, something like that did happen, Gun and Rod will be close by to make sure Aerith gets out safely. Besides, he didn’t want to play awkward third wheel to their date… Though given that Aerith is under the whole department’s protection, Harry didn’t think that Zack would survive the “shovel talk”.

He meandered his way through the market, content to just let his thoughts drift and to lose himself among the rowdy people and the bright neon lights. It has been a while since he last had a chance to just relax and let everything fade away into the background. How long has it been since he last returned? Too long, he thinks.

He stops in front of his shop; a small sign near the door reads “Potter’s Watches”. He pushes open the front door; it creaks on its hinges, which have gone for too long unoiled. “I’m home,” he says to the empty store. He gets no response. The store smells of dust and rust; the air is stale, but the items in store lie where Harry left them. Even those under the slums know better than to bother the Potters, especially since the youngest Potter joined up with the Turks. He picks up a half carved silver pocket watch lying on his work bench; he can scarcely remember what design he wanted to make that one. In the display case, there were still a couple of watches left unsold, reminders of the hurry he was in to sell off his stock. It seems too long ago, his carefree days spent in the dim lights of his watch shop, surrounded by the constant ticking of his beloved clocks. He misses it sometimes- he misses the peace that came with his childhood, before the crisis came. Before ShinRa came. He sighed and made his way upstairs.

Upstairs, the servers he bought long ago whirred away, still functional and storing data that he copied from the ShinRa database. He held up one of the smaller hard drives in his hand and wondered what horrors it contained. Would it have helped Genesis, if he knew earlier? He could ponder on “what ifs” all day, he thought ruefully.

Harry sat down hard on the floor and sighed, rubbing his eyes. How did this happen? How did it get so bad? Aerith’s words rang through his head: “I can’t make it on time. I’m sorry.” What was he to do now? When all that’s said and done, there’s nothing left. When science and faith have abandoned him, what else is left for him to try? He can’t- he won’t- let Genesis die. The man doesn’t deserve this death. He doesn’t deserve his fate. What is there to do?

He remembers the vibrancy of Genesis’ laugh, the bright scarlet of his cloak and flashing turquoise eyes- mako bright with laughter. He thinks of Banora whites and Loveless, both synonymous with the commander. The fire in hands as he lights up his sword; the drama in his words and his infamous temper.

Harry sits on the floor of his attic, his head in his hands; he mourns the man his friend used to be.

* * *

**XLIV.**

He thinks, for it is the only thing left for him to do in this situation. There’s no enemy he can fight; there’s no war to be won. All he can do is try his best to manage this clusterfuck and salvage the lives he can.

Harry turns his pocket watch over and over in his hand; the etchings have worn down with time, the silver metal scratched and dented in places. This was the same pocket watch he first showed to Genesis, back when he was a cadet. It hardly looks anything like it now- worn down and tired. Much like its owner, Harry supposed with morbid humor.

He sighed, and after a considering moment, sank down on his knees and clasped his hands together in prayer. It’s a bet, he thinks- maybe a joke. He’s no Cetra after all, so there’s no reason why this would work… but in the off chance that it doesn’t work, at least no one is around to see him.

If it does work… well, he’s got a lot to say to Minerva. He sinks deep into his mind, and his breath evens out. Harry doesn’t know how much time has passed (Veld will call him if he’s late to a mission anyways, and the Cetra excuse always works out somehow).

A beat. A breath, and then another. For a moment, nothing happens, then a small wisp brushes against his arm- a light touch, of something. He isn’t sure what it is, and when the wisps brush against his legs and shoulders and face, he opens his eyes to a sea of green.

“The lifestream,” he breathes. He looks around him and gets up, his legs cramping a bit from the kneeling. He spends a moment of incredulity looking at where he’s standing- floating, really- in a plasma stream of  _ something _ . Absently, he wonders if he’s breathing in particles of dead people, seeing… that was what the Lifestream was to begin with. He thinks he turns about as green as the particles around him.

A gentle laugh and a pair of small hands push him towards the flowing currents. “Go, Silly,” a woman whispers in his ears. Harry thinks it sounds vaguely like Aerith. “My guilty conscience?” he jokes, and moves forward nonetheless.

He doesn’t know how long he walked nor how far, but he walks until he sees a golden figure in the distance, floating far above the current. Harry draws himself up, pats his dress shirt down, and walks right up to her. He cranes his head up to her and looks at her curiously.

“So you’re the Goddess of this planet,” Harry notes. Despite his current dilemma, the first thing out of his mouth is “Planet is a really uncreative name for a planet, just so you know.”

The Goddess’ lips quirk up, but she says nothing.

Well, at least she didn’t run me through with that spear of hers, Harry thinks, eyeing the weapons behind her with some trepidation.

_ World Traveller _ , her voice echoing in Harry’s mind. It sounded like a chorus- a thousand voices merging into one.  _ We thank you for your service _ .

“I’m hardly doing anything,” Harry says. “Or rather, there’s not much I can do here.” He thinks of Aerith’s words and Genesis’ degradation. There’s really nothing he can do.

_ It is not yet the right time. Have patience _ , she chides.  _ The Crisis is now, but the Calamity has yet to come. _

Harry frowns at that. Not yet the right time? “How much time do I have?” Until the Calamity. Until Genesis wastes away. Until the next world comes?

_ Time is not measured in the static way mortals know; it is flowing in all directions- overlapping and backtracking and twisting and turning, not merely moving forward as mortals think _ , she replies patiently. Her armor floats about her, billowing in the invisible wind.

“If it’s not yet time for the Calamity, then I want to save my friends. Tell me how to save Genesis, please.” Harry insists, looks the Goddess in the eye, polite yet firm. His mission here is to save the Planet, but it doesn’t mean he can’t have other goals.

Minerva’s blonde hair shakes gently from side to side.  _ He can’t be saved _ , she says.

Harry’s heart sinks. “That’s not true”, he breathes. That can’t be true.

_ He is of the Calamity- the Calamity’s son, imperfect and rejected by the very cells he is meant to bear. His very body breaks, and his spirit with it.  _ Her voice is tinged with sadness, but calm nonetheless.

“Then Angeal and Sephiroth…” Harry hesitates.

_ They bear the same fate. The Calamity’s sons, created by humans and twisted by Her into something Other- the Lifestream cannot- will not- accept them. Their fate ends in tragedy, as is all those touched by the Calamity. _

“But the black gunk- whatever the hell I removed from Genesis’ shoulder- responded to my magic,” Harry replies, hiding the way the Goddess’ words slid down his spine like ice. “I couldn’t remove all of it because I ran out of mana, but if I tried to remove it with my magic instead of mana…”

_ They would die- your magic is not meant to exist here. Their body will not be able to accept such potent magic _ , the Goddess says.  _ You would have to remove the Calamity from his very cells- every one of them, for them to be truly freed of Her influence. _

“That’s what Aerith was trying to do- to find a way to pull the Calamity from every cell,” Harry mused. “… But she can’t.”

_ My daughter, while pure in heart and mind, is only Half. She cannot hear Us clearly. Neither can she use spells of such potency. Not right now- perhaps when she hears more. _

Harry takes a deep breath. “Can you teach me how?  _ I _ can hear you. I have power, if that’s what’s required.”

_ You are not  _ of _ Me _ ,  _ that you have always known, World Traveller _ , the Goddess says patiently.  _ Would you give up your freedom for them? The last of what holds you to your own world long gone? _

“There was never a choice,” Harry smiles crookedly, running a hand through his hair. “Seventeen, seventy, or seven hundred, the choice has never been mine.” He looks down at his hands and wonders about the cost of his humanity. He paid that price walking into his death the first time, and he’ll make that choice as many times as it takes. “But this time, I get to choose… I choose to give up my humanity for what makes it worth being human. I choose those I treasure.”

He looks up at the Goddess, his gaze straight and strong. “Do what you have to do; teach me that spell, please. I’m here to save my friends.”

In a flash, the Goddess descends upon him, a vision in gold and gossamer white. Harry’s heart skips a beat, mentally bracing himself for the pain of a spear through his back. Instead, Minerva lays one gentle hand on his cheek, the exact same way Laira Potter used to.

_ Good choice, _ she says, her voice echoing.  _ Your heart is in the right place; you may yet succeed where even my champion has failed. But beware, you may learn all the spells you wish, but I will be the final judge of their worthiness to live. _

Champion? Harry frowned. Before he could ask more, white hot agony lanced through his body, and he knew no more.

“I won’t give up,” he says quietly, pulling himself together through strength of will. “I won’t give up,” he says again as he falls out of the Lifestream. Not now. Not ever. He’s Harry James Potter. He has died and lived and died more times than he can count; he has seen more of life and death both than anyone else has. If there’s someone who can figure this crisis out, goddammit, it’s him. He won’t surrender: he won’t give up. He’ll drag Heaven and Earth down with him, but he won’t give up. Not when it comes to this.

* * *

**XLV.**

He woke up to find himself in a jungle. It was indeed quite a jungle; he nearly gaped at the greenery in his small watchmaking shop, brushing aside leaves with his hands and nearly tripping over an errant branch. From the flowering vines hanging from the ceiling to the full grown Banora White now occupying where he left a rotten apple core (from that gift basket Genesis gave him), the whole place was a  _ mess _ . His hand twitched around a materia that he was subconsciously clutching; Harry looked down curiously to find a pure white orb in his grasp. He pockets it, vowing to investigate the matter at a later date, though it is his first time seeing a pure white materia. A cautious probe showed… no spells that he could tell. Curiouser and curiouser.

He takes one look at this mess and reaches for his PHS; he’s going to need help to deal with his rabid runaway garden, because of course he gets a full grown apple tree while Aerith gets a field of flowers. This is Genesis’ fault- all of it, he thinks with a sigh. Nonetheless, he takes a quick peek upstairs to make sure that the servers weren’t damaged (thank goodness Banora Whites curve, he thinks).

“Hey, Aerith, I’m really sorry to disturb you on your little date with Zack (and you can get back to that soon enough), but I seem to have a situation here…” Harry began sheepishly.

Ten minutes later, Aerith arrived sans Zack, her bodyguards nowhere in sight.

“When you said you had a situation, I didn’t expect a full grown Banora White,” she says politely, covering up a giggle with one hand and craning her head up at where the Banora’s branches broke through to the second floor.

“Well, what do you know? I gave a try at this praying thing, and I ended up with grass stains on my pants and an apple tree in the middle of the slums,” Harry said dryly. “Close the door behind you- you can reverse this, right?”

Aerith hmmed and twirled around. “Mayyybe. Depends if you’ll tell me what happened to make the Lifestream suddenly burst into song like that.”

Harry made a face at that. She’s been hanging around the Turks too much- the Aerish he knew never had a sly streak to her. Now that she mentioned it, the voices that used to be a whisper have now turned to full dial. Great, now they’ll never shut up, he thought gloomily. On the hand, he now has a veritable library of knowledge crammed in his head- biological memory, he thinks with some fascination. He mentally pokes a bit at the library of knowledge, only to get smacked away… for the time being.

“I tried my hand at praying- to talk directly Minerva… to appeal for Genesis and Angeal,” he says. When he sees Aerith look away in guilt, he adds honestly, “I think I accidentally ended up in the Lifestream and met your mom.”

Aerith looked at him incredulously. Harry only pulled up a chair for her (after dusting off the fallen leaves there). She’s going to want to sit down for this, he thinks.

“I saw Minerva, and she made me a full Cetra,” Harry summarizes with a sigh. “I wasn’t lying to you when I first told you I’m not born Cetra,” he says with a smile. “I haven’t a drop of Cetra blood in my veins when I was born. Regardless, I am now the only full blooded Cetra on this planet, and it’s really bloody loud here.”

Still, Aerith managed a weak chuckle.

With a sigh, Harry drags up a chair for himself too as he began to repeat his sordid tale. “Well, you see, I was born Harry James Potter to one Lily Potter and James Potter… in a different world far, far away from this one.”

* * *

**XLVI.**

“So that’s how it is,” Aerith mutters, her kind green eyes meeting Harry’s own. She held Harry’s hands in her own. The warmth of her soft hands helped him through the roughest parts of his tale.

“I’m fairly certain that the prophecy in question in this world is Loveless, but I haven’t the faintest clue who the Planet’s Champion is or what has been done previously; Minerva just said that the Champion failed on his own,” Harry mused. It was comforting, in a way, to finally be able to share his burden with someone- anyone.

“I think the apocalypse that I’m supposed to stop is the second coming of the Calamity,” Harry muttered. “The current situation is a crisis, but Minerva described my task as the Calamity.”

Aerith’s hands shook in Harry’s grasp. “Harry, you have to be careful,” she whispered. “You’re Cetra now- you… the Calamity could-.”

“I know,” he grimaces. “But that can’t be helped. And you know, it’s going to take a lot more than some rotting alien corpse to take me down.”

Aerith rolled her eyes and gave a wet chuckle. “Be serious.”

“I am,” Harry sobered up. “But before my task comes, I’m free to do whatever I want… and I’m going to get Genesis back. Him and Angeal and Sephiroth.”

Aerith nods, her smile and determined gaze cheering him on.

Just then, his phone rang in his pocket. Harry frowned and flipped his phone open- Veld wouldn’t find him on his day off without a good reason.

“Hello, Boss?” He nods his head sheepishly at Aerith in apology and ducks away, nearly braining himself on a tree branch.

“Materia. Apologies for crashing in on your day off,” at here Veld chuckles (undoubtedly, the whole department would know of Zack’s misfortune before sundown, Harry thinks), “but Genesis and Angeal have been spotted in Modeoheim. I’m sending Tseng and Reno with you. I believe SOLDIER side is sending Second Class Zack Fair, Third Class Cloud Strife, and a couple of troopers.”

“Ah, I see. I’ll see to Zack’s concussion then,” Harry snickers and snags his jacket from the back of a chair.

“See that you do,” Veld replies. “I’ll send Gun and Rod to escort Aerith home.”

At here, Harry hesitated. “Ah, about that. There’s a bit of a situation here… I seem to have accidentally grown a tree through my shop.”

He could almost visualize Veld raising an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s quite a story to tell, Materia. Meet in my office in half an hour then.”

Harry sighed. “Yes, Boss.” And snapped his phone shut.

“I’m really, really sorry Aerith, but there’s an urgent mission I have to go-“ Harry began.

Aerith shook her head. Undoubtedly, she had heard at least some of it. “Don’t worry about it, silly. We’re family.” Something warm flutters in Harry’s chest when she says that. Then, she added after a pause, “Good luck, Harry.”

“I’ll bring them back,” he promises solemnly. And he will- he’ll swear it on his last breath.

“I know,” she said, her faith in him an unwavering strength in the storm of the Crisis.

* * *

**XLVII.**

Harry gets to Veld’s office with a five minutes to spare and a small basket of fresh Banora apples (both because his boss probably hasn’t eaten a single meal in a day, and also because the apples themselves are proof enough.)

He raps sharply on Veld’s door twice and steps back. He adjusts his tie and smooths down his hair (as best as he can- Potter hair seems to follow him no matter how many lives he’s had).

The door swings open, and Harry sets the basket down in the middle of Veld’s desk.

Veld takes one look at the sap still pearling on the cut end of the apple and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s a long story,” Harry begins, wondering how he was supposed to convince his boss that he wasn’t an alien. (Even if he is, he’s a legal alien, dammit).

* * *

**XLVIII.**

Let it be said that Tseng’s chopper piloting skills are only marginally better than his socialization skills, Harry muses grumpily as he picks himself out of the flaming wreckage of  Tseng’s reputation  a ShinRa issue chopper. He kicks over his seat and helps out a struggling Cloud.

“Cloud, are you alright?” Harry asks. He winces as fire raged through his head the moment Cloud’s hand touched his. For a split second, he saw a superimposed image over Cloud’s… someone that looks a great deal like him, but wasn’t, staring directly at him with great intent. What was up with that?

“I’m alright, Harry,” Cloud sighed, looking as tired and worn as he feels. Even his spikes seem to droop in exhaustion.

“Right, we’re probably a bit of a ways off from Modeoheim,” Harry thinks, calculating the travel time with the planned route of the trip. “We should make haste.”

He finds Zack, Tseng, Reno and the two troopers resting by the cliff face- thankfully, everyone looked to be in one piece. Tseng’s thoughts was more or less the same as his; Harry listens with half an ear as he thinks back to Veld’s reaction. He was sure he gave the man’s wrinkles wrinkles. In any case, he wasn’t hauled off to the Science Department, and the end conclusion was still a positive one- he had a sure fire way to cure the missing commanders now. If he could get his hands on them.

“We should hurry,” Tseng says, heading out.

“Wait- this should help“ Harry pulls out his fire materia and casts a low level warming spell on the party. If he cranks up the power, he could give them all burn status, but this time he’s just aiming for a bit of warmth.

“Thanks, Harry!” Zack shoots him a smile, not at all bothered by the cold in a sleeveless turtleneck. Makoheads, Harry thinks. He shared a look with Reno and knew the other slums kid was thinking much the same.

* * *

**XLIX.**

“Zack! Catch Hollander!” Harry yells at Zack, parrying Genesis’ blade with his own as Hollander scurries away. He snarls, pushing hard against the Rapier. Even with the degradation, Genesis’ desperation came with a strength of its own.

“Dammit, Genesis!” Harry gritted out. “Jenova cells are  _ not  _ your cure!”

“And I suppose  _ you _ would have my cure?” He snarls, pushing against the twin obsidian blades.

Harry jumps back to gain some room. “If you would just listen-“ he begins, dodging a firaga, “As a matter of fact, I  _ do  _ have your cure!”

That gave Genesis a pause. He set down his blade and gave his friend a hard stare.

“If I have to die, then I’ll take the world with me,” he says quietly, a confession spoken as prophecy.

“You’re not going to die,” Harry tells him, exasperated. Dammit, he gave up his humanity for this; he’ll drag Genesis away from death if it’s the last thing he does. He babies his blows even if his opponent does no such thing; judging by the grey that spreads across the top half of Genesis’ torso, he didn’t have much time left.

“I found your cure. The cause of the degradation is that your cells that haven’t absorbed the Jenova cells properly are breaking down. But Jenova itself is the Calamity spoken of by the Cetra; she causes a plague that gives the infected madness and turns them into mindless puppets. Getting more of her cells won’t help you.” Harry continues, in between parrying and defending.

“I went into the Lifestream and directly appealed to the Goddess. The Cetra in the Lifestream taught me a spell they used in the past to wash the Calamity out of their people. The Goddess is willing to give you a change to live, but goddamit Genesis, you have to  _ want _ to live!”

Harry’s words struck a chord in Genesis. His blade faltered, and Harry stepped back. For once, there was a spark of lucidity in Genesis’ eyes.

“My friend, your desire is the bringer of life. The Gift of the Goddess. When the world seeks my destruction, you alone would seek my salvation?”

“Yes,” Harry replies honestly, because he does. He bears the title of Master of Death and not just for show.

Genesis tilts his head, the gears in his mind spinning. Unbeknownst to him, through his research on Loveless, he was probably one of the humans most familiar with the Cetra religion.

“And what would The Goddess have for as a price?” he asks shrewdly.

Harry’s pinched expression was an answer of its own. “Don’t worry about it- it’s been paid for.”

“Legend shall speak of sacrifice at world’s end,” Genesis recites, wondering at what the Goddess took from his friend to give him his cure.

“The wind sails over the water’s surface, quietly but surely.” Harry continues for him. “Act IV, right?”

The smile they shared was the first in a very long time.

“Come home, Genesis. You’ll be okay- I’ll make sure of it.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the FFVII/HP cross that I've been writing for oh... some seven plus years. I'm still not done with it, but I'm *hoping* that by actually uploading this, I'll get some motivation to actually finish it. If the beginning parts read a bit differently from what you're used to seeing from me, well that's because it was written a Very Long Time Ago. (And I can't be bothered to fix it). 
> 
> Title comes from one of my favorite Vocaloid songs- World's End Dancehall by wowaka.


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